


Small Miracles

by SteelyM



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adoption, F/M, Family Feels, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-05-23 22:46:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 133,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14942798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteelyM/pseuds/SteelyM
Summary: Emma Swan, single mom to 17-year-old Henry and 3-year-old Hope, meets Killian Jones when he moves in across the hall in their Boston apartment building.  He forms an instant connection with Emma's family, but they are all tested when a mysterious affliction strikes one of the children.  CaptainSwan and Swan-Jones family AU (or is it?) Lots of Swan-Jones family feels.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. I'm nervous but excited about the idea for this story! I hope you enjoy this chapter, where I introduce the characters and lay a little bit of groundwork for the mystery that will unfold.

“You okay there, kid?” Emma called down the steps as she reached the third floor, setting down her large Target shopping bag at the top of the steps and reaching into her purse for her keys, as she continued to half drag her tired three-and-a-half-year-old daughter up the stairs.

“I'm alright, mom!” Henry called back from two flights below her. “Be there in a sec!”

“I'm sooooo tired, mom!” Hope sighed dramatically as Emma continued to drag her to the front door of her apartment.

“I know, baby,” Emma replied. “We're almost inside.” She located her keys and opened the door.

“Ugh, finally,” said Hope, dropping dramatically onto the small rug in their apartment's tiny entryway. “Shopping is EX-hausting!”

“Wow, big word! And it wasn't that bad!” Emma chided, grabbing her shopping bag stuffed with a new throw pillow and a small wicker basket she planned to use for children's books and placing it inside the door. “You got a slice of pizza out of the deal!”

Hope sighed again. Her dramatic tendencies often manifested itself in the words and mannerisms of a much older child, even as her still-childish pronunciation made it extra disarming. “I suppooooose so,” she admitted.

Emma smiled and stepped back into the hallway, preparing to take a few steps down to help seventeen-year-old Henry, who had been carrying a large, framed poster print they'd just gotten for the kids' bedroom, when she heard the crash on the landing below her.

“Ow!” Henry cried. “Dammit, my toe!!”

“Henry!” Emma called, seeing him bent over on the landing, frantically rubbing at his right foot through his Converse sneakers. The corner of the heavy (too heavy for him, apparently) poster, which was crudely wrapped in brown paper, had apparently landed right on his big toe when he dropped it.

Emma felt bad about Henry's pain, but as she considered the large parcel that was now leaning against the wall of the landing, she also REALLY hoped the glass hadn't cracked.

“Oh, kid, are you all right?” She asked, reaching Henry and leaning over to rub his back soothingly as he continued to clutch his toe and curse under his breath (she was going let that go, this time, given his injury.)

As she continued to soothe him, she heard a door open back up on the third floor. She swore silently, hoping they hadn't disturbed their new neighbor across the hall. The only other apartment on their floor had been vacant for the entire time they had lived in the building, and she had enjoyed the privacy. But about a week ago, a welcome mat had appeared out front, and deliveries had started arriving, so she knew that someone had moved in.

"Is everything all right out here?” a male, British-accented voice called down. Emma detected a hint of annoyance in her neighbor's tone, and the stress of the day (oh who was she kidding, the stress of her life) suddenly bubbled up to the service.

“Yeah, we're fine,” she shot back, more sharply than necessary. “Sorry about all the noise,” she added sarcastically, given that said noise had only lasted a couple of seconds. She rose back up to standing and turned toward him as she said the last part, and couldn't help that her mouth suddenly dropped open in shock.

The man standing at the top of the stairs, just between the open doorways of their two apartments, was devastatingly, devilishly handsome. He had thick, dark hair that was attractively mussed and sticking up at an angle that indicated he might have just been lying down. He wore a short beard, barely more than scruff. Even from the distance of the flight of stairs that separated them, Emma could tell that his eyes were a deep blue, and the expression in them shifted from mild annoyance, to obvious surprise, maybe even wonder, as she fully turned to face him.

There was a charged moment as they considered each other. Emma had placed her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders in preparation for telling this stranger that she and her family were just fine, thank you very much, and that she didn't need any help. But when her eyes met his, the words died on her tongue.

After a beat of silence, he reached back to scratch the back of his neck with his right hand in what seemed to Emma to be an endearingly nervous gesture. “Well, I'm glad everything is ok.” He nodded towards Henry, who was still dramatically rubbing at his toe. “But if the lad needs an ice pack, I have a few in my freezer.”

“That's okay,” Emma replied, shaking herself back to her usual confident, guarded demeanor. “We have some too.”

“I see,” he replied softly, any hint of annoyance having disappeared. “Well, how about a hand with your parcel, there? It looks a bit unwieldy.”

Emma looked down at the picture resting against the stairwell wall, and then at her injured teenage son sitting forlornly on the step. She relented.

“Yeah, maybe, we could use a hand while I help Henry” she replied, turning back toward him. “Thank you.”

“Okay, perfect. No problem,” he said, then paused, a little awkwardly, seeming to consider something. “I supposed it's a good thing that you only need one!”

As he said this, he brought his left arm forward. Emma hadn't even noticed that he had been holding it slightly behind his back, but he was wearing a t-shirt, and now she easily saw that his left arm ended in a rounded stump at his wrist.

Before she could respond, Hope, who of course had been quietly observing the entire exchange from the doorway of their apartment, stepped out into the hallway, considering the stranger with her piercing, curious blue eyes.

“Hi,” she said, addressing the man, who turned and looked down to regard her.

“Hello there,” he replied, smiling slowly. Emma, too, smiled slightly as she watched him take the measure of her little girl. She couldn't help it. People's reactions to her strikingly lovely and precocious daughter always filled her with pride.

“You only have one hand,” Hope said, matter-of-factly, glancing at his wrist but then looking up to meet his eyes.

“Hope!” Emma cried, her face instantly heating up with embarrassment.

“That I do,” the man replied to Hope, dropping to one knee as he addressed her seriously. He held out the hand he _did_ have in an offer to shake hers. “Killian Jones,” he said. “It's a pleasure to meet you, young lass.”

Hope regarded him for a beat and then smiled, reaching out to shake his hand solemnly, clearly enjoying both his choice to engage her in a such a grown up gesture AND his utterly fascinating one-handedness.

“Hope Margaret Swan,” she said.

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hope Margaret Swan.”

Killian looked at her quietly for a moment, as if he was about to say something else, but then let go of her hand gently and rose up again to address Emma and Henry. “If you'll excuse me a moment, I'll run and get my brace, and then I can help you with your painting.”

“Oh, it's just a poster,” Emma said absently, and a bit stupidly she thought. She was still kind of bewildered by the sudden presence of their handsome neighbor who apparently had a knack for charming exhausted preschoolers.

“Right then, be back in just a moment...” he trailed off, seeming to realize he didn't know how to address her. 

“Emma,” she blurted out, too loudly, still feeling weirdly nervous. She didn't like strangers. She did everything she could to limit her human interactions to her children, the people she needed to deal with in order to care for and educate her children, and the people (most of them scumbags) she needed to to deal with for work. Her social skills were rusty to say the least.

“And this is Henry,” she added, as her son rose to his left foot beside her, leaning on the railing for support. Still clearly in pain, he waved halfheartedly to Killian.

“Pleased to meet you both,” Killian replied, nodding again. “Be right back,” he added, before disappearing inside his apartment.

Leaving the poster on the landing, Emma helped Henry half hop up the stairs and supported him as he hobbled into the apartment. Hope, after inquiring about whether Henry was okay, lingered by the open door, apparently anxious for the return of their mysterious and gentlemanly new friend.

“Hope, come inside,” Emma ordered gently as she dropped Henry off on the couch in the small living room of their two bedroom apparent and headed to the kitchen to grab an ice pack for him.

Hope sighed dramatically and slumped her shoulders, inching herself back inside the doorway and sitting on the rug to wait for the return of their dashing neighbor.

 

Killian hurried back into his apartment so quickly that he tripped over the pair of boots he kept by the door and nearly did a face plant onto the wooden hallway floor before he stumbled and caught himself.

After regaining his footing, he crossed the small apartment to its single bedroom and retrieved his flesh-colored brace with its small, rounded metal hook from his bedside table. He attached it securely to his blunted forearm.

Any mild irritation that he'd felt before at being awakened suddenly from a mid-Sunday afternoon nap on the couch was completely gone and had been replaced by a sudden, all-consuming need to help his lovely new neighbor and her young family in any small way that he could. And since when did Killian Jones nap, anyway? He didn't nap. (A small voice in the back of his mind suggested that he was bored and lonely and just didn't have anything better to do on his day off.)

Pushing away his dark thoughts, and feeling energized by his sudden sense of purpose, he strode back to his entryway to put on the offending boots he'd tripped over earlier. Realizing that he was completely keyed up and even a bit nervous for some reason, he stopped to gather himself and take a deep breath before opening his door.

Upon stepping back into the hallway, he found himself once again greeted by Miss Hope Swan, who was perched in her own doorway. She stood and smiled at him, clearly happy he'd returned, and then her eyes shifted from his face down to his brace and hook.

He took a step closer to her, knelt down, and held out his left arm and its attachment for her inspection.

After a moment's consideration she asked, “Why couldn't they just put your hand back on?”

He hesitated, torn between wanting to be honest with her (he'd always believed that children were stronger than people realized and could handle difficult truths) and worry that her mother would want to protect her from terrible stories of ships and storms and heavy equipment that hadn't been properly secured, sliding on the slick deck and crushing his left hand into pulp when he had stupidly, reflexively tried to catch the runaway cargo near the ship's stern.

He was saved when Emma appeared behind her daughter and appeared to sheepishly realize that the child was again expressing an open interest in their neighbor's unfortunate injury.

“Hope, honey,” she instructed, “go inside and go potty, and then check on Henry for me, okay? Maybe you could tell him a story to help take his mind off of his foot.”

Hope sighed and rolled her eyes slightly (a habit she had picked up from her teenage sibling, he guessed) but she relented and headed back into the apartment.

“Sorry about that,” Emma said. “My three-year-old tends to give new people the once over. Apparently she finds you fascinating.”

He couldn't resist his habitual urge to flirt; after all, it usually worked when he bothered to make any effort, and this woman was stunningly beautiful. He raised his eyebrow and smirked as he replied, “Well, I tend to have that effect on people.”

Killian realized his mistake before all the words were even out of his mouth. The tentative smile Emma had worn upon greeting him was replaced with a stony expression. He cursed internally for failing to read the situation better. This woman was beautiful, and young - she couldn't have been more than 34 or 35 despite her boy appearing to be about 16 or 17 – but she was also living in a rundown apartment building in Brighton, MA. She wasn't wearing a ring and had apparently been shopping alone with her kids on the weekend, so he guessed that the children's father was not in the picture.

He had tried to flirt with a tired, beautiful single mom, who no doubt had already had to put up with mountains of shit from the all the shitty men she encountered in her life, within five minutes of meeting her. What a prat he was.

“So,” he said, directing the conversation to the business at hand. “I'll just run down and grab your painting.”

“Poster,” she replied icily. “And, you know what? It's fine. I have it.”

“No, please, let me. I offered to perform a neighborly gesture, let me follow through so that you can go see to your boy.”

At that, she glanced back into her apartment with a flash of worry for her son. She turned back at him and gave a brief nod. “Well, thanks, I appreciate it,” she said politely, but her tone was disappointingly flat.

She turned to go, and if she had any doubts about his ability to handle the unwieldy parcel with just one hand, he at least appreciated the fact that she didn't show it.

Indeed, he easily brought the large, brown paper wrapped framed picture up the stairs by supporting to bottom with his hook and tightly gripping the right side with his hand.

Upon reaching Emma's unit, he tapped his foot slightly against the cheap metal door, which was still ajar.

To his delight (And what was that all about, anyway? Did he even _like_ kids? It had been ages since he'd been around any), little Hope ambled over to greet him. “Mom,” she cried. “He brought it up. Can we see if it's broke?”

Emma left her perch next to Henry on the couch to join them. “Thanks,” she said to Killian. “You can just set it down anywhere.”

“But just be careful! Please.” Hope added.

“Aye, lass, as you wish,” he replied, winking at her and smiling both at the way she said “careful” (caew-ful) and that way she politely remembered to tack on the “please” at the end. He looked around the small living space in search of a safe place upon which to set the precious parcel.

In addition to the couch, the living room contained a medium-sized, stuffed but threadbare fabric chair, a coffee table, and a small TV on a cheap-looking stand. The poster was too wide to fit on the chair, but Killian leaned down and rested the parcel against it, on the (clean but well worn) blue living room rug.

Henry sat up straight and regarded the package. He was handsome and a few inches taller than his mother. His hair was brown where his mother's and sister's was blonde, and that difference plus the wide gap in the children's ages had him wondering if Henry and Hope had different fathers. But he shook off the thought. It was none of his business.

Henry must have been feeling better, because his concern seemed to have shifted away from his injury and to the wrapped poster. “I don't think I heard it crack. Maybe my toe cushioned the fall! Can we see if it's okay?” he asked his mother.

Emma sighed, and Killian caught her glancing at him, no doubt anxious to politely but swiftly get him to exit her apartment, but the pleading looks her children were giving her about the state of their poster seemed to win out.

“Only one way to find out!” she said with (forced, he thought) cheerfulness. She strode over to the poster, knelt beside it, and tore the brown paper at the back, pulling it forward and down over the front of the frame and moving it out of the way so that they could inspect the state of their new acquisition.

Thankfully, the glass in the simple, cheap, gold-tinted metal frame appeared to be in tact, and the children reacted with relief (a quiet “Yes” from Henry; an excited gasp and “It's okay!!!” from Hope.)

Killian was happy for them, but he also experienced a sudden flash of melancholy and a strange sense of familiarity, like deja vu, at the poster itself and what it depicted.

He was starting at a large, old-fashioned looking map of an oddly shaped island. The landmass depicted had mountains in the middle and several rocky coves. Just to the northeast of the main island, there was a smaller, rocky island shaped just like a human skull, appropriately labeled “Skull Rock.”

The silhouette of a small fairy decorated the map at the top of the island, and just to the southeast, in the sea, sat an imposing looking pirate ship adorned with a skull and crossbones flag (a jolly roger, he mentally corrected himself.)

“It's Neverland!” Hope explained happily.

“Aye, that it is,” he replied softly, quickly gathering himself and wondering why she should have been at all stricken by a children's poster inspired by a Disney cartoon. He shook off his sense of deja vu and said, “It's wonderful, truly a fine choice.”

Henry grinned charmingly, suddenly looking younger than his years, and Hope beamed at Killian.

“Well,” Emma chimed in, “they share a room, and they both realized at the same time that it was looking kind of bare. But it's pretty tough to get them to agree on any kind of décor. We found this print at a flea market we stopped at on the way home from Target. They both liked it, but Hope was mesmerized by it. She is very excited about it, hence the drama when it got dropped.”

“I'm very happy that it survived in tact,” Killian replied sincerely, appreciating the fact that Emma had relaxed enough to share something personal with him. Maybe his earlier premature attempt at flirtation hadn't quite sunk his chances for a friendship with this woman.

Emma studied him for a moment and then said, “Thanks for your help. It was really nice of you. Can I get you a glass of water or anything before you head out?”

Recognizing the gentle dismissal and not wanting to push his luck, he politely declined the water. He briefly considered offering his assistance in hanging the poster, but thought the better of it. This woman and her son, despite the earlier mishap, were more than capable of hammering a nail or two into the wall without the help of a one-handed stranger.

Instead, he returned Emma's goodbye nod and Henry's more enthusiastic wave, and headed toward the door.

But before he could leave, Hope's voice piped up, “Hey, Mom, can I show Killian the butterfly?”

“Oh honey,” Emma replied. “I'm sure Killian needs to get going.”

“Puhleeeeeeease!!” Hope pleaded, already turning towards her room, presumably to acquire the aforementioned butterfly.

“Yes, fine, quickly,” said a defeated Emma, rolling her eyes.

Seconds later, the girl returned to them holding a small plastic bell jar, inside of which sat a tiny, realistic looking silk green and gold filigree butterfly on a brown plastic stick.

Hope held it out to Killian proudly and exclaimed, “Mrs. X gave it to me when Mom told her we were decorating our room.” (“Decorating” came out adorably like deco-wating.)

Mrs. X must have been Mrs. Xavier, Killian thought. She was the elderly woman who lived on the first floor. She was friendly enough, but she seemed to keep an eye on the goings-on in the building and had caught him in a conversation on the day he moved in. She had asked him so many questions that it had felt like he was being interviewed for a national security position.

Killian reached out to take the object Hope proffered and held it up to his eyes for inspection.

“It's lovely,” he said solemnly to Hope. “A fine specimen if I ever saw one.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Emma said to her beaming daughter. “It's really time for Killian to go. We need to clean up and get ready for dinner.”

Killian handed the bell jar back to the little girl and nodded goodbye again.

As he reached for the doorknob, he heard tiny footsteps behind him and turned to find Hope smiling up at him. “Bye, Killian,” she said. “See you tomorrow?” (Too-mah-woe. So cute, Killian thought. What was happening to him?)

He blinked, then raised his eyes to meet Emma's. The expression she wore was softer than he expected; her lip curved in a slight smile.

“Hope, I'm sure Killian is a busy person,” she said to her daughter. “But, the weather is supposed to be nice this week, so maybe one day, if we're out front playing when we get home after work and school, we'll run into him.”

As Emma finished speaking, she raised her eyes back to Killian's again, and he saw a bit of shyness in her expression. Perhaps she suddenly felt like she had assumed too much, and that he wouldn't want to bother with her her and her family again.

In response, Killian knelt down slightly, offered his hand to Hope once again and said, “That sounds wonderful.”

Hope smiled with delight as she shook his hand, her soft blond curls bouncing slightly on her shoulders as she held his bright blue eyes with her own.

Suddenly, he was struck with an even more powerful sense of deja vu than he had felt before when he'd looked at the Neverland poster. Something primal and familiar awakened deep in his gut. It was like the earliest beginning of a feeling, or even a state of being, that was still out of reach, but that was hopeful and glowing. In that brief moment, it felt like something was teasing him that the bitter loneliness that had marked most of his life might soon be coming to an end.

He released the little girl's hand. A lump suddenly had formed in his throat, and tears had sprung to his eyes, and it was all he could do to take a deep breath, smile and nod goodbye, and leave his new friends' apartment before he broke down.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy more of Emma and her family getting to know Killian. This is mostly cute and fluffy because, seriously, Killian and Hope own my heart. Also, apparently I miss living in Boston, because I had fun writing the touristy stuff. Please forgive any liberties I've taken in describing real locations and attractions.

The next day, Emma left work at 5 o'clock and picked Hope up from sort-of-preschool-but-really-daycare (or as Hope proudly called it, “school”) on time at 5:30. Late Sunday night, Emma's boss had sent her the information on a skip that needed chasing down, and Emma had successfully tracked the guy to the betting counter at the Wonderland dog track by 2 PM, rounding out her afternoon with some paperwork and follow up calls on a couple of other outstanding skips.

It had been a good day, especially for a Monday, and the weather was lovely, a sunny and warm but not humid, early September day in New England. So Emma agreed when Hope asked if they could have dinner on the steps in front of their building. If, in the back of her mind, she wondered whether Killian Jones worked a 9 to 5 job and would be heading home around now, who could blame her? He had seemed amenable to seeing them again, and who could be so cold-hearted to be as charming as he had been with Hope and then NOT make an effort to see her again?

Well, she thought, a guy _could_ be so cold-hearted that he didn't even stick around long enough to  _meet_ Hope when she was born, even though he was her freaking father. As it often did, Emma's crappy history with men reared its ugly head and reminded her why she didn't date and kept her social circle small; limited to herself and the two people to whom she had given birth.

The eldest of those two people, Henry, was already home finishing his homework, and he helped her make some turkey sandwiches and cut up some fruit that they placed into Tupperware for safe transport down the three flights of stairs. As she did on a daily basis, Emma marveled at how the boy could be so well-adjusted and thoughtful (really, what teenager was _thoughtful_?) even though he'd lost his dad at a young age and then lost an almost-stepdad when Hope's father bailed on them just under four years ago when he learned that Emma was pregnant.

Henry grabbed Hope's pink and purple straw cup, a sports bottle of water, and the containers of sandwiches and fruit and headed toward the door.

“You, going to be okay with that, kid?” Emma chided him affectionately. “We don't want to lose our dinner to another accident.”

“Ha ha,” he replied, nimbly balancing his load as he opened the door. Emma and Hope grinned at each other and clasped hands as they followed him out.

Their building was an old, red-brick, four story apartment building with a center staircase and two small units on each floor. It sat in a row of several similar buildings, all set back slightly from their one way street, which ran north, cutting across the much busier Commonwealth Avenue. Given its proximity to Boston College, their neighborhood was mostly home to college students, but just a little farther West, there were some nice old homes in which families lived, and there was a decent public high school for Henry to attend.

Their routine was to let Hope play in front of the steps, drawing with chalk or blowing bubbles, while Emma and Henry sat on the stoop and occasionally joined her.

This evening, Hope rushed through eating a few bites of her sandwich before eagerly setting about blowing the biggest bubble she possibly could with her bubble solution. Emma and Henry chatted about the day, and Emma raised an eyebrow at Henry as he yawned mid-conversation.

“You ready for bed, kid? It's only 6:30,” she teased.

“Ha ha,” he replied. “It's weird though. I had the strangest dreams last night. I can't remember details, but I know I slept lousy because of them.”

“I had dreams too! They were WEIRD!” Hope, who had been listening, chimed in.

Emma smiled. Hope idolized Henry and tried to do everything that he did, so of course her dreams MUST have kept her up too.

“Hmm,” Emma mused. “Maybe your new bedroom decor gives off bad vibes or feng shui or something.” She was joking, but she scowled when Henry appeared to furrow his brow and seriously consider her theory.

“Kid, I'm kidding.”

He nodded and seemed to force a laugh, then raised his head as his face broke into a genuine grin. “Oh, hey, Killian. Nice outfit!”

Emma turned toward the sidewalk in the direction Henry was looking and couldn't help but grin herself at their neighbor's appearance as he approached. Suddenly inspired by her years living in Boston and being steeped in the city's revolutionary history, she cried, “Hope, Henry, the British are coming!”

Killian finally reached them and presented himself theatrically. His neck was straight and his shoulders were squared in a military-style pose. This was appropriate, since he was dressed in a late-18th century style British soldier's uniform, complete with the famous “Redcoat, ” which was adorned with gold trim, brass buttons, and white loops. He wore plain tan pants tucked into shiny period-appropriate (but fake leather) black boots, and he reached into his messenger bag to pull out a flattened, well worn tricorn hat, which he reshaped and solemnly placed on his head.

Despite the slightly rumpled hat and the fact that he looked like he was about to start a losing war with America's founding fathers back in 1776, he looked positively dashing. He was smiling, and his eyes sparkled with mischief, but his cheeks reddened just slightly, and Emma realized that he might have suddenly been struck by a little embarrassment about this grand gesture (maybe because he was making such a show for _her_ , for  _her_ family? She pushed the flattering but traitorous thought aside.)

“What are you wear....wait, are you some kind of historical re-enactor?” Emma asked, unable to suppress a goofy grin. Just meeting him yesterday, she would NOT have pegged him for a nerdy history buff.

“Well, in a way,” Killian replied. “But not as a hobby,” he added hurriedly, noticing her raised eyebrows. “It's part of my job. I work down at the Tea Party Ship and Museum in the harbor. I don't usually wear this getup home on the T, but I thought you all might be outside this fine evening, and that it would make the kids laugh.”

Henry was indeed chuckling at him, and he remarked that he'd been to the ship and museum on a field trip back in ninth grade, and that it had been really fun.

“Well, you should come back sometime if it's okay with your mum,” Killian said. “Now that you know someone who works there, I'll give you a special tour of the museum and make sure you have the best spot to watch those bloody colonials waste all that perfectly good tea.”

Emma and Henry continued to chuckle at his theatrics as Hope looked on.

Killian turned to her and gestured to his costume, “What do you think, lass?”

Hope considered him critically and remarked, “Hmm, I like the red, I guess.” She didn't seem totally sold, and maybe even a little bothered.

Emma saw a look cross Killian's face that made her think he noticed, too. Still, he bowed stiffly and gave the little girl a salute of thanks, and Hope smiled in response.

Emma asked Killian if he was an expert in the American Revolution, and whether that was why he worked at the museum. He explained that he knew absolutely NOTHING about American history, except what he'd learned in his short time at this job. But back in England, he'd worked for a company that maintained old tall ships, and he had a lot of experience with the care and maintenance of old freighters like the one used by the Tea Party Museum. He now spent half his time keeping up the ship (repairing and staining the wood, fixing sails, tying it down in bad weather) and the other half participating in the reenactments of the famous Boston Tea Party, in which a band of rebellious colonists hurled crates of British-imported tea into the harbor in protest of a tax levied by King George III.

As he shared the story of how, just a few weeks ago, he'd met and impressed the museum director with his knowledge of old ships and then gotten the job, Emma and Henry scooted apart on the step so that Killian could sit between them as they chatted.

Hope, for her part, was blowing bubbles close to the sidewalk, but occasionally walking back to them to grab another grape to eat and listen to their conversation, watching Killian with interest and occasionally chiming in to ask him a question when she wandered over. She was a little more reserved with him than she had been the previous day when they'd met him, and Emma couldn't help but think it had something to do with his costume. Maybe it had just thrown her off a little because she was so young.

As the September sun began to set, they realized it was getting to be time to head inside. Killian helped them to pack up the remnants of their dinner and walked with them up the stairs.

Up on the third floor in front of their apartments, they bid Killian a friendly goodnight. He thanked them for the food they had shared and reminded them again that they were welcome to come see the Tea Party ship at any time.

As Emma cleaned up from dinner and got Hope ready for bed, she realized that she hadn't enjoyed such pleasant company from anyone besides her kids in a very, very long time.

 

As the week went by, the weather continued to be lovely, and they saw Killian almost every day on the stoop after work (although now he was always dressed in his usual jeans and a t-shirt.) Emma and Henry got into the habit of packing him a sandwich and some extra fruit or chips, and he gratefully accepted dinner as he joined them on the steps.

Despite her usual skittishness around new people, Emma couldn't help but admit that he was a nice addition to their evenings, sharing funny stories from his time in the British Navy when he was young and filling them in about all the characters with whom he now worked at the Tea Party ship.

If she happened to also enjoy looking at him while they chatted, well, how could anyone really blame her? And it wasn't just the way he looked that was so pleasant; it was the way he looked at her when she talked. He seemed sincerely interested in her and what she had to say. He held eye contact and listened, and not in the fake “look what an attentive guy I am but really I'm just waiting to use my next awesome line on you” way that most guys she met listened.

Killian was also REALLY great about playing with Hope. He'd kneel down on the sidewalk and dazzle her with chalk drawings of pirate ships and giant squids (“Did you ever SEE a giant squid?” she asked him with wonder. “Aye, lass, I think so...or perhaps it was a Kraken.” “A Kwaken?”) or engage her in a challenge over who could blow the biggest bubble.

Emma's usual M.O. was to assume that guys who were nice to her kids were usually just doing it as a means to eventually get her into bed, but none of her internal alarm bells were going off about Killian as she watched him entertain Hope or engage Henry in conversation. The truth was, it was a big relief to have someone else there to interact with the kids in the evenings, especially Hope. As the only parent in the household, it was often all Emma could do to make sure everyone was fed and clothed and headed to the right school or activity every day, on top of working her full time job. Henry was also old enough to start thinking about college and had signed up to take the SATs, and that was a whole new level of complexity and financial stress she was dreading.

On top of all of it, the task of keeping a very precocious, inquisitive three-and-a-half-year-old engaged with fun, educational activities all the time could sometimes be too much. Suddenly this week, at the end of each long day, Emma had help from Killian in satisfying Hope's boundless enthusiasm for play and stories. She had warmed back up to him again on Tuesday, seemingly over whatever discombobulation his appearance had caused the previous evening.

Emma kept catching herself smiling as she watched the two of them interact, and then that DID set off her internal alarm bells, because experience had taught Emma to know better than to start trusting or relying on anybody, especially a man. This guy was nice enough, but any day now he'd probably meet some piece of ass who was younger than Emma and whose life was less complicated, and this little friendship he was cultivating would quickly lose its novelty for him.

On Friday, a rainy system settled over New England for the day, and in lieu of having dinner on the stoop, Emma agreed to the kids' request that she order pizza.

“Can Killian come over for pizza?” Hope asked.

Emma sighed. Hanging out with him in the building's shared space was one thing, but inviting him in to the apartment for dinner after they'd basically had dinner with him already every night this week seemed like...a lot.

“Honey, it's Friday night,” Emma replied to her daughter. “A lot of people have plans and go out on Fridays.”

“But what will he EAT?” Hope inquired worriedly.

“Hope, he'll be fine, he can eat wherever he goes out, like at a restaurant or something,” Henry chimed in patiently. “Although...” he added after a moment's hesitation, “I _could_ knock on his door just in case he's there all by himself?”

Finally, Emma relented. It would just be for a quick slice of pizza, and then she'd beg off that she needed to get Hope a bath and ready for bed.

As it turned out, Killian wasn't home when the food arrived a little before six, and the three of them ended up having a quiet dinner at the tiny table they crammed into the space between the kitchen and living room. Emma was relieved, or so she told herself.

Hope was unusually quiet during their meal, and when Emma asked her what was wrong, she looked thoughtful before replying. “I was just thinking about my dream from last night.”

“Oh yeah, was it a weird one?” Emma replied, remembering that the little girl had mentioned having had strange dreams a couple times this week, but she hadn't shared any details.

“Yeah, it was REALLY weird,” said Hope. “My bed was on this big gold tower, and when I looked over the side it went WAAAAY down with clouds BELOW me. Then this purple smoke came all around my bed, and I saw it was full of all these bugs flying around me!”

Emma and Henry both looked at her in surprise. “Wow, that IS weird,” said Emma sincerely. “Were you scared?”

“A little, I guess,” Hope mused. “I started to hit the bugs away, and then I guess I woked up.”

“I see,” Emma replied.

“She _was_ pretty restless in the middle of the night,” Henry remarked. “She actually woke me up for a minute, but then she settled back down pretty quick.”

Henry then changed the subject to talk about and upcoming presentation he had to give at school, but as Emma chatted with him, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about Hope's dream, and that it was unusual for such a young child to be able to recall and recount the details so vividly.

Around 7:30, Henry was watching baseball on TV and Emma was in the bathroom starting the water for Hope's bath. The little girl was in the bathroom too, still fully dressed in pink shorts and a yellow T shirt, slumping her shoulders and complaining that she didn't FEEL like a bath (although Emma knew that once she got in and started playing with her bath toys, she never wanted to get out.)

All of a sudden, Hope sprinted out of the room. Emma followed, shouting for her to come back, when she saw that Hope's destination had been the front door, which she had thrown open and was currently enthusiastically greeting a very surprised Killian Jones, who apparently had returned home and was unlocking his own door.

“Wow, kid, you must have super hearing,” Emma remarked under her breath before adding, “Hope, sweetie, you're not supposed to EVER open the front door. Hi, Killian.”

“Good evening,” he replied cheerfully, and she couldn't help but notice how genuine his smile seemed, and how attractive he looked with his dark hair damp from the rain.

“Killian, why did you eat at a rest-want?” Hope asked, charmingly mispronouncing the last word. “We had pizza!”

“You did!?” Killian replied, comically indignant and winking at Emma, who smiled and shrugged.

“Yeah, we knocked on your door, just in case, but...” Emma trailed off, suddenly feeling weird about the idea of him thinking they had expected him to want to have dinner with them.

“Well, I am very sorry to have missed pizza,” he replied with (slightly theatrical, for Hope's benefit) solemnity, looking at each of them in turn. “Alas, we had some extra preparations to make at the museum in advance of the weekend, and we ended up ordering some sandwiches while we worked.”

“It was no big deal,” Emma told him, rolling her eyes a little in embarrassment.

“On the contrary, it was lovely of you to think of me again, especially since you've been feeding me all week! I really wish you'd let me return the favor by having you as my guests on the ship tomorrow.”

“Can we go there, Mom, please!” Hope begged, putting her little hands together adorably and gazing up at Emma.

“The rain's going to stop. It's supposed to get back to being nice out tomorrow,” Henry chimed in helpfully from over on the couch, holding up his phone, which was open to the weather app.

Emma looked at the three hopeful faces starting at her and relented. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you Killian, that sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “The first tour's at 10, and then they are pretty much on the hour. We're well staffed on Saturdays, so I should be able to escort you around the museum after the show. Do you want to come down for the 11 o'clock tour, and then maybe we can grab a quick bite together afterwards before I have to get back?”

“That sounds great,” she said, somewhat shyly. He was so genuinely enthusiastic about it, and it DID sound like a nice day. In fact, she was a little embarrassed about how much she was already starting to look forward to it.

 

That night, Emma was awakened by the sounds of her daughter crying and yelling in her sleep. She jumped out of her bed and ran across the hall to Hope's bedside, where a groggy Henry was already comforting the still half-asleep child.

“It's okay, kid, you were just dreaming,” Henry soothed, rubbing her back as Hope burrowed into her pillow for comfort, still whimpering a bit.

“Don't let them take it!” Hope whined sleepily, and Emma and Henry exchanged confused looks.

“It's okay, honey, nobody's taking anything,” Emma told her daughter, smoothing her now-sweaty blonde hair and leaning down to kiss her forehead.

Hope nodded sleepily into the pillow, muttered, “Okay,” and appeared to drift back off to sleep.

Henry returned to his bed and was soon asleep again, but Emma watched her daughter for a few minutes, making sure her breathing evened out and that she seemed to be in a dreamless, deep sleep.

She wracked her brain to try to remember if Henry had started experiencing bad dreams at this age. She supposed he had, but not every night, and she still didn't recall him describing them in the detail Hope had at dinner.

After a while, she returned to her bed, but it took her a long time to fall asleep.

 

Saturday morning, Hope was up bright and early as usual, despite her bad dreams the night before. Emma turned on cartoons and chatted with her as she made coffee. Hope didn't mention her dreams, and Emma didn't bring it up, not wanting to upset the little girl. Although, Emma wasn't sure anything could upset her daughter this morning, as she only half paid attention to her shows in favor of constantly asking Emma whether it was time to go to the ship yet. A few times she phrased it as “time to go see Killian” yet, and Emma tried to tamp down the feeling of worry that bubbled up in her gut each time Hope said that.

A little after ten, when everyone was showered and dressed, they walked to the spot on Commonwealth Avenue where Emma's yellow Volkswagen was currently parked, and she drove them down to the area by the harbor. Boston's Seaport had been developing rapidly over the past few years, and the cheap parking lots that used to sit just a stone's throw from the courthouse and The Barking Crab had been moved farther and farther out. Emma parked in one after double checking that the weekend daily rate was still relatively reasonable.

Hope was at that in-between age where she didn't want to ride in a stroller (those were for babies), but where she got tired on longer walks. They skipped the stroller today, and Hope's excitement carried her little legs almost all the way from their car to the Boston Tea Party Museum and Ship in the area known as Fort Point Channel. Henry helpfully carried her for the last three blocks to the entrance of the museum, which sat on a bridge over the channel. A few museum employees in ragged, brown and gray costumes (complete with tricorn hats of course) were greeting tourists.

She didn't see Killian right away, but he must have been inside, watching for them, because he burst through the front doors of the museum in full British officer regalia and greeted them warmly.

Hope seemed fine with his Redcoat costume today, and greeted his offer of a high-five with gusto. He escorted them down the sidewalk of the bridge to the dock from which they would board the ship. He and Henry walked in front, chatting about Boston and other Revolutionary-era tourist attractions. Hope held Emma's hand as they walked but kept trying to pull her closer and closer to Killian and Henry so that she could listen in.

When they reached the ship, they boarded via a wide, tourist friendly gangway and were greeted by a museum employee who introduced himself as Samuel Adams and gave them all some background on the bitter tax disputes that were taking place between the British King and Parliament and the people of Boston.

“Be back in a moment,” Killian said quietly to Emma, distractingly close to her ear, causing the hair on the back of her neck to stand at attention, and then he disappeared back down the gangway.

After his talk, “Sam Adams” was joined by a few other “revolutionary colonists,” who instructed the kids in the group to line up behind boxes of “tea” which were secured to the side of ship with ropes. Emma took out her phone and started to snap photos as Hope happily lined up with the other children, many of whom were older. She solemnly complied as the “colonists” instructed the kids to pick up the boxes and throw them overboard. Henry stepped forward to help make sure his sister could hoist her crate all the way over the rail. They heard a splash, and then he lifted her so that she could see down into the water. Hope giggled and clapped with delight as her crate of “tea” bobbed in the harbor.

Then, behind them, British officer Killian Jones boarded the ship and hoisted his bayonet to admonish the rebellious colonist scoundrels.

“By order of The King, you are under arrest for destruction of royal property!” he yelled haughtily, seeming to relish the role of the role of the villain.

Hope, Henry and Emma watched with silly grins on their faces as Sam and the other costumed revolutionaries pushed him aside and fled down the gangplank.

Killian then straightened and bowed as the colonists returned and followed suit. The tourists applauded the show, and one of the colonist actors directed them down the main gangway back into the museum building for the rest of the tour.

Emma and her kids hung back from the group so that Killian could join them.

“Nice job,” Henry told him with a smile.

“Thanks, lad! Someone has to keep law and order in this blasted city,” Killian replied, grinning. “And what did you think, young lass?” he asked Hope.

“I liked dumping the tea!” She replied happily, then seemed to think for a moment. “Wait, were you the _bad guy_?” she asked Killian.

He nodded, “Yes, Hope, in this scenario, I suppose I was.”

“Well,” she replied. “ _I_ think you're a good guy.”

Emma couldn't have explained it, but she suddenly felt a wave of emotion rise in her throat, and she blinked back the feeling of tears. What was _wrong_ with her?

“I thank you for that,” Killian told Hope sincerely, stooping slightly so that he could meet her eyes and gently pat her soft hair. “Should we head inside?” he asked after a moment. 

Unable to speak, Emma simply nodded and followed as Killian took Hope's offered hand and led her down the gangway back to the museum.

They breezed through a quick tour of the museum. Henry was admirably enthusiastic about it, even pointing out the finer points of a few events to Killian, but there is only so much patience you can expect from a preschooler when it comes to historical documents and artifacts, so after a half hour, they headed back to the south side of the channel for lunch.

They picked up sandwiches at a very cute gourmet bakery and cafe that Killian recommended. He insisted on paying as thanks for all their hospitality the previous week. It was such a gorgeous day, that they carried the food to a set of benches overlooking the water and chatted while they ate.

After about three bites of sandwich, Hope, who had been eyeing the Hood Dairy snack bar nearby, convinced her mom that she had earned ice cream. Henry gallantly escorted her over and procured them each a cone, holding her hand as they ate and walked by the railing at the edge of the harbor.

Left semi-alone for the first time, Emma and Killian watched the kids silently for a moment, before he asked her how she got into her work as a bail bonds person. He'd been too polite to ask during their previous dinners together, and Emma guessed that he sensed that it might have been an awkward topic given how unusual the profession was for a woman.

  
She explained that before Hope was born, she'd been doing part time work for a private investigation firm, and that a lot of her work could be done from home so that she could be there for Henry, who was in middle school at the time. They had been living with her boyfriend, whose name was Frank even though for some reason she always called him by his last name, which was Walsh. He sold furniture and was nice and funny and good with Henry, and they had been looking at buying a house in the suburbs, so she had just assumed that they would eventually get married, even though she was in no rush. When she got pregnant with Hope, she was surprised and a little nervous, but she was excited for Henry to have a sibling. As for Walsh, she thought he'd be happy and that they would just get engaged, no big deal.

Apparently to him, it WAS a big deal. Emma didn't go into all the details with Killian, but as she told him the highlights, she remembered Walsh's stricken face the night she told him they were pregnant. Walsh had looked so sick that he basically turned green. Four unbearably tense and miserable weeks later, he was telling her that he couldn't do this and was packing his things and moving to New York. She used her PI resources to check up on him, and it turned out one of his female employees had joined him in his move. Emma guessed that they had been seeing each other for some time, and that her pregnancy had just hastened his inevitable bailing. She had no doubt that, as nice as he was to Henry, even if she hadn't gotten pregnant, there was no way he would have stuck around with her if it meant he might have to help pay for some other guy's kid's college education.

Killian wore a solemn expression as she spoke. She went on uninterrupted for a few minutes, surprised at how good it felt to unburden her most recent sob story to someone who listened with care and attention. By the end of the story, Killian looked downright devastated, and there was a quiet mix of horror and rage in his eyes that Emma guiltily appreciated. Walsh had really been a piece of shit.

After a moment Killian spoke with utter sincerity, his eyes haunted. “Emma, I am so very sorry that happened to you. I can't even imagine what kind of rotting soul a man has to have in order to leave children and their mother so callously.”

“Yeah, he sucked,” was Emma's eloquent reply. “But you know what, I got a super adorable amazing daughter out of the deal (seriously, I can't even _believe_ that Hope is related to him) and Henry got over it. Money has been tight. I had to stop working for a while when Hope was born and then try to find something full time, and I don't have a college degree, so I didn't have a ton of options. I've bounced around a bunch, and I've only been in this current gig a few weeks, but so far so good. Max is really nice and has a ton of integrity. He already treats me like a partner, and he is looking to retire in the next couple of years, so I might be able to take over the whole bail bonds operation.”

“That's wonderful,” Killian replied seriously. He then appeared to shake himself a bit and gestured at Henry who, to his sister's delight, was breaking apart the last few pieces of his cone and tossing them to the ducks and gulls in the water. “I take it your not in touch with Henry's father, then?”

“Nope,” Emma replied. “He's dead, has been for about 13 years.”

“Wow, I'm so, so sorry.”

  
“It's okay. It's been a long time. He was a good guy. We both grew up in the system, foster care, and then fell madly in love when we were eighteen-year-old idiots. When I got pregnant, I started envisioning a home and a future and got a decent temp job in an office, but Neal was dreaming bigger I guess and started looking for “investments” that would make us real money. He was involved in a bunch of scams and shady deals, most of which probably weren't legal, but together we kept us afloat after Henry was born. Then one night when Henry was four, Neal went down to Providence for some meeting and lost control of his car on I-95 coming back late at night in crappy weather. And that was that. We had no savings, no insurance...fun times.”

  
Killian shook his head in wonder, and if she would normally feel shitty about laying out all her dirty laundry to someone she'd known for a week, his sincerity and seemingly genuine interest and concern had made it easy for her to keep going.

“Your children are extraordinarily lucky to have you as their mother,” Killian replied, looking at her with something a little like awe, and her heart grew about ten sizes in her chest, because she _knew_ deep down that it was true; that she had been a fucking warrior at times over the years in order to move past her own heartbreak and make sure she kept money coming in and food on the table, but amidst the day to day struggle that was her life, it was sure nice to hear someone else say it out loud.

She smiled back at him, and there were those tears again, stinging her eyes as the emotions at feeling seen and appreciated by another adult, a man who seemed kind and serious and funny at all the right times, were a little overwhelming.

She gathered herself enough to say, “Well, now that I've droned on with my sob story, what about you, do you have any family in the states or are they back in the UK?”

A shadow crossed his features. “Alas,” he replied, “I am on my own here. And unfortunately, I may have to take a rain check on sharing my sad story. I need to get back for the next show at 1.”

“Oh, of course,” Emma replied, suddenly standing up and gathering the remains of their lunch in a paper bag. She was embarrassed, feeling like she'd indulged too much in his kind attentiveness and taken up all their time with her sob stories. “I'm so sorry I went on and on.”

He blanched as he stood to help her, seeming genuinely upset that she might feel sheepish about their conversation. “Emma, you have nothing to apologize for. On the contrary, I am honored that you felt comfortable enough to share some of your history with me. I wonder...”

He hesitated, and Emma thought he might be considering whether to ask her out, or even just suggest that they get coffee some time so that they could talk more.

She would have said yes to either one.

Instead, Hope came bounding over to them, seemingly having run out of entertainment when the seagulls had consumed the last of Henry's ice cream cone.

“Mom, we need another ice cream,” Hope stated matter of factly.

“Oh no, uh uh,” Emma replied sternly but with a hint of a smile. “That was enough ice cream for you and the birds. Killian has to get back to work, and we need to get home.” She eyed her daughter, who wore the remnants of her ice cream on both her chin and the front of her t-shirt. “I may have to hose you off before we get in the car.”

Killian and Henry laughed at Hope's resulting pout (she even folded her arms across her chest) and said their goodbyes.

Killian knelt down to address Hope, who softened when he addressed her.

“Thank you, very much for coming today, Miss Hope,” he said. “It was an honor to perform for such a special audience, and you did a smashing job dumping tea into the harbor.”

She smiled at him, her need for additional ice cream apparently forgotten. “You're welcome,” she said politely, then added, “But next time, can you do the pirate show?”

Emma blanched and looked down to notice Killian's hook for, really, the first time all day. Oh god, her daughter really had no filter. Emma blushed and didn't know what to say, but of course Killian did.

“I will take it under advisement,” he replied, and then, to Hope's perplexed expression winked and added, “I like pirates, too. Maybe one evening this week, I'll teach you how to sword fight. I'm an expert with a cutlass.”

Of course, Hope beamed at him in response, even though Emma was pretty sure she had never heard the word “cutlass” before.

Emma took her turn to say goodbye, thanking Killian warmly even as she found it a little difficult to meet his eyes after all she had shared. When she did look up, however, all she saw in his expression was warmth and openness, and not for the first time, she felt like she was at the starting gate of something good. For once, someone had opened a tiny crack in the armor, usually impervious to anyone but her children, that she wore around her heart, and she was only a little bit terrified.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! In Chapter 3, I will pick up the pace of the story. I just really wanted to establish these friendships.


	3. Chapter 3

The week that followed was more challenging for Emma, and not just because a patch of rainy weather and a flurry of activity at work prevented her and the kids from dining al fresco with Killian each night.

On Wednesday evening, when Emma picked up Hope late from daycare again (as she drove there, she could literally hear a cash register 'ding' with the extra money she'd have to pay them for every late minute that ticked by), one of the teachers told Emma that Hope had been refusing to take the usual afternoon nap.

“She's been complaining about bad dreams, and she says she's afraid to go to sleep,” the teacher, Melanie, told Emma as they packed up Hope's stuff. The tired little girl leaned against Emma's legs as the adults talked.

“She _has_ been having some bad dreams at night,” Emma noted. “But isn't she getting to the point where she doesn't need to nap during the day? My son cut his out around this age. Maybe she could just look at a book and have some quiet time?”

Melanie smiled patiently and gestured to the sleepy-looking Hope, “Honestly, she seems like she could still use the rest, especially if she's waking up at night. But it would be fine if she _would_ rest or read quietly while other kids slept...it's just that, this week, she's been a little disruptive at nap time.”

“Oh no, I'm sorry,” Emma said, thinking, “Dammit.”

“Yeah, each day, after she said she couldn't sleep, she did start to try to flip through a book, but after a couple of minutes, she decided it would be more fun to start whispering stories to other children who were starting to fall asleep.” Melanie's tone became a little less polite and a little more crisp as she continued, “I didn't hear all the stories, but according to some of the other kids, they were quite...exciting; something about pirates and a giant squid. At any rate, it prevented some of the other children from getting a good nap, so we ended up with some tired and cranky kids this afternoon.”

Emma looked down at Hope, still leaning against her legs. The tired little girl mustered a sweet smile, and with her round pink cheeks, dimpled chin, and adorable little nose, she would have looked angelic if not for the usual little glint of impishness in those blue eyes. Then, as if to taunt Emma just a little bit more, Hope raised her right eyebrow just a tiny bit above her left. When the hell had she started doing that?

Emma turned back to the teacher and said, “I'm really sorry she was disruptive. Hopefully this nightmare thing is just a phase that she needs to get through. I'll talk to her about making sure she respects the rules to be quiet at nap time.”

Melanie nodded and thanked her, and Emma and Hope headed out to the car. Emma asked a few questions about the day, but Hope mostly just shrugged or said “I don't remember” in response. Emma was a little annoyed at the daycare teachers. Like, was this really the first time a kid would rather chat than sleep at nap time? Shouldn't they have strategies to deal with it?

Her irritation didn't abate much as they headed home, and her stress level spiked as soon as she walked in the door and was confronted with a new problem from Henry.

“Mom,” he said, before she could even put her bag and Hope's backpack down and direct the little girl to go use the bathroom. “What's the plan for tomorrow night? Did you get a sitter?”

Goddammit.

Henry had his presentation on his summer research project at school tomorrow night in the auditorium, and he really wanted her to attend and be able to watch _and_ pay attention without the inevitable distraction that his younger sister would provide. Emma was supposed to have asked one of the daycare teachers if they would want to babysit Thursday evening for some extra cash, but she had forgotten.

Now, she would have to text all three of Hope's teachers and beg someone to do her a favor on short notice during a week in which her daughter was being a bit of troublemaker. She grimaced at the idea, but she had to try.

“Right, kid,” she told Henry. “I need to text Hope's teachers. Hopefully someone is available.”

Henry took a deep breath, apparently to tamp down his irritation, but he couldn't control his scowl.

Emma felt bad. He was still relatively new to this school, and he probably wanted to make a good impression on his teachers and classmates, not just through his presentation, but by having a mom who wasn't stressed and harried and chasing after his much younger sister during the whole event.

She grabbed her phone and started looking up contacts when Henry was apparently struck by an idea.

“You know,” he said, “if none of her teachers are free, maybe we could ask Killian to stay with her.”

Emma looked up from her phone and blinked at him. She had to admit, it had kind of sucked not seeing Killian at all so far this week, and she wouldn't mind having an excuse to talk to him. But, on the other hand, he had already done her a huge favor by treating them to the museum and lunch on Saturday, and she felt like it was her turn to do right by him again, not ask for another favor. Also, as much as she liked him, he was a single man with no children (as far as she knew) that they had _just_ met. She wasn't going to leave him home alone with her kid already.

“I don't know, kid, it seems too soon to ask him to do that. We really don't know him that well.”

“Well,” Henry replied, and Emma could practically see the gears turning in his head, “what if we invited him to come with us? He and Hope could sit in the back or something, or if she gets restless and wants to walk around in the lobby, he can take her so you don't have to leave your seat.”

Emma thought about it. It was a pretty good idea. She definitely didn't hate the idea of having a reason to spend more time with Killian, and Hope had asked a couple times this week when they were going to see him again. She really wanted to be able to do this for Henry. He took on so much for her; did so much babysitting himself for his much younger sibling when Emma had to work late or go on a stakeout. She owed him one.

Hope had returned to the living room and heard the end of Emma and Henry's conversation. “Is Killian coming too-mah-wow?” she asked excitedly. 

Emma sighed, “We'll see, honey. I have to ask him.”

So that was it; she was on the hook as the two kids looked at her expectantly. She asked Henry to heat up some leftovers for him and Hope and then headed across the hall.

When Killian answered his door, it gave her a little thrill to see the smile that lit up his face upon seeing her. “Good evening, Swan,” he said cheerfully, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

She couldn't help but smile in return, despite being nervous about asking him for a favor. She declined his invitation to come inside, explaining that she had to get back to give the kids dinner, and then she explained her predicament for tomorrow night.

He listened carefully and smiled warmly when she apologetically asked him to join them so that she had help with Hope, promising that she'd owe him a favor. He cocked his eyebrow _a little bit_ mischievously at that, and instead of being annoyed, Emma felt the tiniest bit of gooseflesh rise pleasantly on her arms in response to his sly innuendo.

“I would be honored to join you all,” Killian said when she finished talking. “Thank you for thinking of me. I'll make sure I show Lady Hope a good time while you and Henry are occupied.”

“Okay, great,” Emma said with real relief. Henry would be thrilled. Emma would be happy to be able to give him her full attention, and Hope would get to go on an adventure with her gallant new friend instead of sitting through two hours of mumbly high schoolers droning on about the future of technology. “Thanks a ton; I really mean it. I will make it up to you.”

“Please, don't think anything of it,” Killian replied. “I'm looking forward to it.”

Emma heard a commotion in her kitchen through the open door behind her, so she told Killian they'd leave from the apartments tomorrow at 6:15, and then she hurriedly took her leave before Henry dropped dinner.

 

At 6:05 the following evening, Killian Jones finished buttoning his favorite dark blue button-down shirt and double checked to make sure his brace was secure. He looked in the mirror and carefully mussed his hair one more time, and then rolled his eyes and smirked at himself.

He was acting like a nervous lad getting ready for a date, when he was actually tagging along as a babysitter for a woman who had built up a lifetime's worth of mistrust of men like him.

Still, Emma didn't seem like the type of person to easily ask for favors, and he was flattered that she trusted him enough to ask him to keep an eye on Hope for the evening. He couldn't recall the last time he had been as excited about anything as he had been about the opportunities he'd had to spend time with Emma and her family over the last week or so.

Moving to his entryway, he pulled on his boots, grabbed his keys, phone, and wallet, and stepped across the hall to knock on Emma's door.

Henry answered. He looked handsome, if a bit nervous, wearing tan pants and a blue sport coat with a white button-down shirt.

“Hello, lad,” Killian greeted him cheerfully. “Are you ready to dazzle everyone with your extensive knowledge of, wait, what's the topic again?”

Henry groaned, “Future practical applications of Artificial Intelligence technology.”

“Right, that.”

“Yeah, I guess I am. I hope it's not too boring. A.I. seems much more interesting when it comes in the form of droids in “Star Wars,” but I don't think I could get away with a whole slideshow on C-3PO.”

Killian smirked in response as he stepped inside the apartment, and Henry stepped away to pack up his materials. Emma and Hope then rushed in from one of the bedrooms, Emma still grabbing at a barrette that had apparently come loose from (or had never fully made it into) Hope's bouncy blonde hair.

Emma stopped when she saw him, apparently giving up on taming her daughter's big, loose curls as the little girl ran to Killian and threw her arms around his legs.

“Hi Killian!” she cried. “We're going to Henry's school!”

He looked down at the girl, who pulled back from him and beamed up at him with excitement. He glanced up quickly at Emma, who was starting at him with an unreadable expression. She looked beautiful, having eschewed her usual jeans and plain tops for a silky, short sleeved, navy blue wrap dress with a small white floral print. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail that fell down her back in soft waves.

She was breathtakingly lovely, and it took him a moment to gather himself before he could look down again to address his “date” for the evening.

“Good evening, my lady,” he said gallantly to Hope. “Are you ready for our adventure?”

“Aye, aye, Captain Matey!” Hope exclaimed in response as she continued to grin at him.

“Yeah, I guess she's been watching a lot of 'Jake and the Neverland Pirates' on Disney Jr. lately...” Emma explained, seeming a little embarrassed that Killian might think Hope was associating his disability with pirates.

“A fine choice!” Killian replied. “Shall we go? Can I help carry anything?”

“I think we're good!” Emma replied, turning to Henry and straightening his collar. “Let's go!”

It was a nice evening, and Emma's car was parked a few blocks away from the building, so they just walked to Henry's school, with Emma pushing Hope in her stroller. When they arrived, Emma parked the stroller in a corner of the lobby in front of the auditorium and turned to say a few words of encouragement to Henry.

The lad nodded confidently, but his eyes betrayed his nervousness. Killian leaned conspiratorially down to Hope and said quietly, “Perhaps your brother could use a hug and some good luck wishes from his younger sister.”

The little girl nodded and bounced over to Henry, tapping his leg to get his attention and then opening her arms for a hug. “Good luck, Henry!” she cried.

Henry broke into a grin as he leaned down, picked her up, and embraced her tightly. “Thanks, kid,” he replied into her ear.

Killian wished the lad luck as well, and then the boy turned to follow a teacher and his classmates down a corridor that Killian supposed would take him backstage where they would wait their turns to present.

The auditorium was starting to fill up with families of the other junior class members who were presenting their summer research projects tonight. As they made their way inside, Killian realized that his palm was sweating slightly. He was nervous.

Killian Jones had never been short on confidence in social situations, even after he had lost his hand. He knew that he was charming and devilishly handsome, and he had no trouble maintaining his outward swagger despite the demons he carried inside. However, in this school, among all these respectable, hard working parents who cared for their children and were actively taking part in their education, he felt humbled and out of place.

The last decade of his life had passed in a blur of reckless, and sometimes even lawless behavior. Sure, he could point to his past tragedies as an excuse for straying from the path his beloved brother had carefully laid out for him, but deep down he knew that it had been up to him; he had made the choices that caused him to drift away from respectability. As he glanced up at the magnificent woman walking ahead of him, he knew that _she_ certainly could have made excuses to indulge in selfish, reckless behavior, but instead, she had stayed strong and true and created a wonderful life for her children. He felt awed by her and ashamed of himself.

In his moment of self doubt, he noticed a little tug on his hook, and looked down to see Hope's small hand gripping it tightly. She smiled up at him, sweetly, but with her usual hint of mischief, as if she was fully aware of her powers to charm him. And how charmed he was. Emma, still leading the way and holding Hope's other hand, glanced back at her daughter and their new friend and smiled slightly before turning back to look for seats. Suddenly, Killian's feelings of insecurity and awkwardness were replaced by a swell of pride to be in this place, seemingly accepted as belonging there by this adorable little girl and her stunning mother.

There were three seats at the end an aisle on the right side of the auditorium towards the front, and Emma suggested that the three of them start out by sitting together, but that Killian could take Hope for a walk when she inevitably became bored or got too chatty.

Soon the lights dimmed, and one of the eleventh grade teachers came out to introduce the program. The teacher explained that members of the junior class who were studying computer science this year were going to present their summer research projects on the future of technology. Killian had gathered through his conversations with Emma that, because Henry had recently changed schools (he was fuzzy on the reasons), he'd only had a few weeks to prepare for this, but that the lad had worked really hard to make up for lost time.

Before the teacher could even introduce the first student, Hope began to squirm in her seat and sigh loudly, and Emma and Killian exchanged looks. When Hope loudly whispered, “This is _boring_!” Killian knew that it was time to go. He took her hand and grinned at Emma, who smiled apologetically.

Hope stage whispered, “Bye, Mom!” as she hopped out of her seat to go with Killian.

Fortunately, there were some activities out in the lobby to keep them occupied. When they'd arrived, Killian had spotted a table set up with a bake sale to benefit the school and had quietly confirmed with Emma that it was ok for him to get Hope a cookie while they were waiting.

The little girl was delighted when he led her over to the bake sale, and she made quite a show of choosing between chocolate chip or sugar (iced with bright purple frosting.) “Hmm, which one would I liiiiiiike...” she kept repeating, with as much seriousness as if she was an adult contemplating a major purchase, like a new car. In the end, Killian bought both, with the understanding that she could save one for tomorrow after school.

Hope chose to eat the chocolate chip cookie right then, munching on it as they began to wander around the rest of the auditorium's lobby. Killian watched her carefully, and she held onto his hook as they walked, leaving his hand free to periodically dab with a napkin at the crumbs and smears of chocolate that gathered on her chin and the sides of her little mouth as she ate.

The walls of the lobby and an adjacent hallway were colorfully decorated with various paintings and drawings from some of the high school's art classes, and Killian and Hope entertained themselves by checking them out one by one. If anything was particularly colorful or interesting, Hope would ask to be picked up for a closer look, and he would carefully lift her, making sure not to jostle her precious cookie.

Killian couldn't ever remember being around a child this age, and he found the smart, vibrant little girl to be a marvel. When she was excited about something she saw, her enthusiasm radiated off her. She was completely absent of any of the cynicism or self consciousness that constrained older children and adults more and more as they aged. Whether it was her cookie (“deeeee-licious!”), or a beautiful chalk drawing a very talented art student had done of mallard ducks swimming in a pond, Hope just LOVED things, wholly and openly.

He was enchanted by her more and more with each passing second.

When the cookie was long gone, and they had stopped at the water fountain and checked out every piece of artwork twice, he received a text from Emma that Henry was about to go on. Hope, who had begun yawning frequently, agreed to sneak back inside with him to watch her brother. The seats next to Emma were still open, so they quietly made their way to her and sat down as Henry took the stage.

Killian glanced over at Emma, who held Hope's hand in her left hand but tapped the fingers of her right nervously on her armrest as she watched Henry bring up his first slide on the screen and begin his talk about A.I.

Killian could tell that Henry was still nervous, but he also clearly had command of his subject matter, and he relaxed considerably after the one C-3PO joke he'd included in his talk went over well with crowd. Even Hope watched him closely, periodically waving to her brother even though he most likely couldn't see her in the dark.

When Henry finished, the crowd applauded warmly, and Emma released Hope's hand and sprung out of her seat to give her son her own little standing ovation. Hope stood up too and clapped wildly. Emma was radiantly beautiful in this state of elation, and Killian realized he was openly staring at her and grinning like a fool. He turned away just as she glanced back at him, a little embarrassed by her own display, and sat back down in her seat.

Before the next student took the stage, Emma leaned across Hope and whispered to Killian, “Hey, I'm ready to take off. I got a couple of work texts a little bit ago, and I need to go deal with something.”

She then whispered to Hope that it was time to go, and the three of them briskly made their way to the exit, Emma whisking Hope into arms halfway up the aisle so that the tired little girl didn't slow them down.

When they got to the lobby, Emma asked Hope if she'd had a good time, and she enthusiastically replied that she'd had a “GREAT” time. “I got two cookies!” she added.

Emma raised an eyebrow at Killian, who clarified, “Well, one is for tomorrow after school.”

“Got it. OK, Hope honey, we should stop at the bathroom and then I'm going to try to get Henry so we can head home. Mommy needs to go do some work.”

“You need to work tonight?” Killian asked.

Emma sighed, “Yeah. Max texted and left me a voicemail. One of the contacts we'd called asking about a skip called in a tip on where the guy might be staying. Max wants me to stake the place out to see if I can catch the guy coming home. I'm just going to drop the kids off and run back out.” She winced, “Unfortunately, I got the texts a little while before Henry spoke, so I may already be too late.”

“Emma, if you're okay with it, I'd be happy to see Hope and Henry home safely so that you could leave straight from here,” he suggested, prepared for her refusal. Despite the easy rapport and comfort they'd established with each other so quickly, he was still a very new friend to them.

He was pleasantly surprised, though, when she appeared to consider it. She looked at Hope, who was standing close to Killian, leaning against his legs slightly the way she to Emma did when she was tired.

“It _would_ save me some time, to be honest,” Emma conceded. “My car is actually parked closer to here, and I have the stuff I need in there already.” At that, Killian assumed she meant a weapon, like a taser or perhaps even a firearm locked in the glove box.

“It's no problem at all,” he encouraged. “Really, I'm going there anyway, obviously. I'm happy to see them into the apartment and make sure they get settled.”

She relented, checking the time again on her phone and then springing into action mode. “Okay, let's do it. Okay with you, Hope?”

“Great with me!”

"Perfect,” Emma replied to her daughter. “Ok, quick bathroom stop for us.” She turned to Killian. “Would you mind running backstage to see if you can get Henry? If the teachers ask why he needs to leave, tell them I had an emergency.”

Killian saluted (for Hope's benefit) and headed in the direction she'd indicated. He actually ran into Henry on the way, since the program was winding down and students were starting to file out.

They rejoined Emma and Hope and headed out of the school building. After a couple of blocks, Emma needed to turn down a side street to where her car was parked so that she could head to her stakeout. She hugged and kissed her kids quickly and congratulated Henry again for a job well done.

When she turned to Killian, he saw a mixture of guilt and nervousness in her eyes, and it gave his heart a painful little twist.

“Are you sure this is okay?” she asked him,

“Swan, it's perfectly fine. Go get your skip. I'll text you as soon as they're back safely in your apartment.”

She gave him a small smile and nodded, smiled more broadly at the kids one last time, and then disappeared into the night.

The walk home was uneventful. Hope was quiet in the stroller, likely close to nodding off, and Killian chatted with Henry about his presentation and the rest of the school year thus far.

When they reached their building, Henry was gracious enough to fold the stroller after Killian lifted Hope out of it (there was no way he could have figured out that contraption.)

On their way to the stairs, they had to pass the building's two first floor apartments, and the door to Mrs. Xavier's unit cracked open as they passed. Killian caught Henry rolling his eyes as he noticed the elderly woman poking her head out.

“Oh, hello!” she greeted them. “Late night for you kids, isn't it?”

Henry and Killian, who was still holding a now more alert Hope, turned to the woman with resignation. They were caught in her trap.

Killian wasn't good at guessing ages, but he thought that “Mrs. X.” as Hope called her, was probably in her early eighties. Her frizzy gray hair seemed to have thinned over the years, and it stuck out from her head like the light fuzz of a dandelion. Her skin was wrinkled and liver spotted. She was already very short, and she stooped over slightly in her turquoise housecoat, and she had to crane her neck significantly to look at the tall boy and man in front of her.

When he looked at her eyes, Killian noticed, as he had the first time he'd met her, that they were a very unique color. He supposed one would call them hazel, but the brownish-orange sections around her pupils were so large and so orange, that it truly looked like she had orange eyes.

“Yeah,” Henry replied to her question, “I had a thing at school tonight.”

“Oh, how nice. Is your mother parking the car?”

Killian was about to chime in that indeed she was, just to get out of the conversation, when Hope spoke up, “No, she had to go to work. Killian took us home!”

“I see...” the woman said, casting a skeptical eye to Killian and then addressing Hope again. “And how do you like your butterfly, young miss?”

“I still like it,” Hope replied politely, but Killian noticed that her arms, which had been flung carelessly around his neck as he held her, tightened at bit around him.

The woman smiled in response, but Killian detected a false note to it.

“We really should be getting the little one up to bed,” Killian said, as he and Henry each took a step closer to the stairs. “Goodnight, Mrs. Xavier.”

She either didn't hear him, couldn't read body language, or just didn't care, because she continued to probe. “It's nice of you to help Miss Swan with the children. Must be so hard, being on her own with them.”

“Well, we've all become fast friends, and it's really no trouble for me. Goodnight.” Henry led the way, and Killian followed him up the stairs.

“Have a lovely evening,” she called, but it was several seconds before he heard the door shut below them.

He felt bad about rushing off; she was just a lonely old woman. But he resented that she was clearly implying that Emma was being irresponsible by letting _him_ take the kids home. This woman didn't know them, and it wasn't her concern.

Plus, as lovely as it was that sweet Hope trusted him to carry her into the building and up the stairs, she was getting awfully heavy, and he needed to get her upstairs and put her down before his arms gave out.

When they got up to Emma's apartment, Killian gently set Hope down near the kitchen. She asked for a cup of water, so he found one of her pink straw cups from the drying rack and filled it with water from the Brita pitcher he found in the fridge. Henry went to hang up his sport coat and put his school stuff away.

As he watched Hope drink and looked around the tiny but neat-as-could-be-expected kitchen, Killian suddenly felt awkward. He really hadn't ever been in Emma's apartment for any meaningful amount of time, so he certainly wasn't comfortable there, but now, he felt strange about the idea of just dropping off the children and leaving.

It wasn't that he didn't think Henry was perfectly capable of babysitting; the boy was almost grown. Killian just felt...protective of them. Something about the encounter with the old woman downstairs hadn't sat well with him. Plus, even though he knew that Emma could take care of herself very well, the idea of her sitting alone in a dark car, waiting to apprehend some lowlife in a bad neighborhood made him a bit sick in his gut. The children were probably used to this, but he wondered if they worried about her on nights like tonight.

Hope finished her drink with a comically audible “Ahhhh.”

Killian chuckled at her as Henry returned from his and Hope's bedroom. “Okay, kiddo,” Henry said, “time to brush teeth and get pajamas on. It's past your bedtime!”

“OK, but then can Killian read me a story?”

“Hope, it's late, and I'm sure Killian needs to go home.”

“But I always get story, and I want him to read Let's Go for a Drive!”

Henry seemed tired, the adrenaline from the evening's public speaking event clearly having worn off, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly to Killian. “It might be easier to just do it. That book isn't very long.”

“Well, then I'd be happy to read, Let's Go for a Drive. Lead the way, miss!”

Despite the tiredness that shown through in her eyes, Hope managed to smile at him brightly, reaching for his hand and leading them back to her and Henry's room. Henry found the book for him, then took Hope to the bathroom to brush her teeth and change into pajamas. As Killian looked around the kids' room, he noticed that, as expected, it was a hodgepodge of décor given the vast age differences between the siblings. The fateful Neverland poster hung on an otherwise bare wall over Henry's bed. On the opposite wall, over Hope's bed, was a small wall-mounted shelf that contained a sweet framed photo of the family of three, plus her newly acquired preserved butterfly.

Each child had a desk at the end of their single bed, and while Henry's was covered with folders, books, and an older looking laptop, Hope's contained a smattering of jaunty sheets of stickers, construction paper, and crayons. Killian found himself wistfully wondering what kind of things she liked to draw, and whether she'd ever grace him with a piece of art.

When the children returned, Henry led Hope to her bed and settled onto his own to peruse his phone.

Hope made herself comfortable in her tiny cream colored toddler bed, which looked like an Ikea special. Killian settled onto the floor next to the bed, his back supported against the wall by a blue throw pillow with a picture of a familiar cartoon snowman on it.

When they were both settled comfortably, Killian began the story, which was a lively interplay between a cartoon elephant and pig, who enthusiastically gathered everything they could possibly need for a road trip (maps, suitcases, sunglasses, umbrellas etc.) before finally realizing that neither of them had a car. As he read, he invented comical voices for both characters that made Hope giggle. Hope snuggled closer to the edge of the bed, so that by the end of the story, she was resting her head on his shoulder.

When he finally got to the last page, which revealed that Elephant and Piggie had used all their road trip supplies to instead craft an elaborate pirate ship, Hope sat up in her bed and clapped her hands together with delight. “They're going to play pirates!” she said excitedly, her r's still sounding charmingly like w's.

“Ohhh...right, that's why you wanted that one,” Henry noted from his bed.

“Yeah, I'm pretty into pirates right now,” she replied matter of factly.

Henry rolled his eyes. Killian chuckled. He was completely charmed that the little girl was apparently associating him with fictional pirates; he was even flattered. He rose to his feet so that he could bid the kids good night.

“I'll be right across the hall,” he told Henry. “Please don't hesitate to knock if you need anything.” He paused and added, “I can even stay on the couch here and just read or watch TV until your mom gets back?”

“No, that's okay,” Henry replied. “We're fine. She just texted me that she hasn't had any luck yet, and if the guy doesn't show by one, she's going to assume she missed him or that the tip was bad.”

One in the morning still sounded late to Killian, but he didn't want to impose if this was their routine.

“All right,” he said. “Good night, then. Henry, outstanding job tonight. I certainly know about a thousand per cent more about Artificial Intelligence than I did previously.”

Henry smirked and thanked him in response. He rose to walk Killian out.

Killian turned to Hope and knelt down next to her bed. “Goodnight, lass. Thank you for a lovely evening!”

“Thanks for the cookies!” Hope said tiredly. Her head was already resting on her pillow and her eyes were beginning to close.

“I'll make sure your mum knows we left the extra on the kitchen counter for tomorrow.”

“Kay. See you tomorrow.” With that, she reached across and gently patted his hook and brace, which he'd rested on the edge of her bed. Once again, the sweet gesture of acceptance by the little girl filled his heart with feeling, and he nodded a final goodnight to her before heading out of the room with Henry at his heels.

Before he left the apartment, he reminded Henry to knock if he needed anything (Henry actually rolled his eyes this time, so Killian figured he was fine.)

When he got home, the first thing he did was remove his boots, and the second thing he did was text Emma a summary of the rest of their evening, hoping to ease her mind and to fill in any blanks Henry had left in his communications with her.

 

Emma was cold. She kept a spare jacket in her car for these kinds of occasions, but fall was definitely in the air tonight, and the leather wasn't doing much to compensate for the fact that she was wearing a summery dress instead of her usual jeans and sweater.

It was nearly midnight, and the Dunkin Donuts coffee she'd procured on the way East Boston, supposed destination of one Edward Einhorn, bail jumper; sat in her cupholder, getting colder as well as the minutes ticked by. When she had started working with Max, she agreed that she could take on most of the late night stakeouts. Henry was both mature and wonderfully understanding about his default role as Hope's babysitter, but she still felt pangs of guilt at how much he had to take on.

Tonight, at least she'd had the added comfort that Killian had seen the kids home safely, even going so far as to read Hope a story before bed, according to the update texts from him and Henry.

As Emma thought about their time with Killian over the past two weeks, the cynical side of mind kept looking for his flaw or his angle. But she couldn't find it. If he was a creep in sheep's clothing who was just pretending to be nice, he was also a master at hiding it. Emma considered her ability to read people and identify when they were lying as one of her greatest strengths, her “superpower,” and this guy just wasn't triggering her natural lie detector.

Not only that, after he had texted her around ten with his initial summary of the trip home with the kids, he'd continued to text back and forth with her over the course of the evening, asking questions about her work and cracking corny jokes that made her snort to herself with laughter.

He was really helping her to pass the time, and she appreciated this low key way to get to know him a little bit more, even if they were only touching on light topics, like who was the most obnoxious history snob at his work (a PhD candidate named Elliot) and what was her favorite stakeout food (greasy grilled cheese, of course.)

Now that it was so late, though, and because he had to be at work in the morning, Emma had started to feel like he was actually waiting up for her, and she definitely did not need that additional layer of guilt.

 **E** : _Hey, it's getting kind of late you know. As much as I appreciate it, you don't have to keep me company._

 **K** : _Is that what I'm doing? Who says its not you that's keeping me company?_

 **E** : _Awww, cute. Really, it's ok, go to bed. If this guy doesn't show within the next 45 minutes, I'm calling it. It won't take me long to get home with no traffic._

He didn't respond for a couple of minutes, and as she stared at the dark building in front of her, she wondered again what was going through Killian's mind...was he genuinely worried about her? About the kids? As much as she didn't need someone else looking out for them, it felt nice to suddenly have a backup grownup around.

 **K** : _As you wish. Thank you again for this evening, I had a wonderful time. You must be so proud of Henry._

 **E** : _I am, and thank YOU! Really, I owe you big time._

She froze after she sent it, wondering if he had raised that eyebrow again in unspoken innuendo. She knew there was an attraction between them; she felt the charged energy radiating between them whenever he was near. But so far, all their time together had centered around the kids.

She realized in that moment that she wanted that to change. As she sat in her cold car, working alone on a dark East Boston street, she decided to give herself permission to do something for herself; to see if there could be something more between them.

She decided to ask him out.

He had texted back again while she had been thinking, politely brushing off her thanks.

 **E** : _No really, let me do something for you. Can I take you to dinner? Maybe Saturday? Nothing fancy, just somewhere in the neighborhood. No kids. No worries if you already have plans!_

She sent it quickly before she could doubt herself and hesitate, and she rolled her eyes at her rambling words as she read the text back to herself.

It took a minute for the three dots to appear to indicate he was responding. She really didn't doubt that he was going to say yes. As much as he'd been a gentleman, she knew simply from the way that he looked at her that he was interested.

Finally, the dots appeared and he replied.

  **K** : _I would love an evening in the pleasure of your company. But may I ask, would you let me plan the evening?_

Emma was chagrined.

 **E** : _Hey, I know how to plan a date!_

 **K** : _So it is a date then? (Winking emoji.)_

Dammit.

He replied again before she could shoot back a snotty response to his teasing.

 **K** : _I have no doubt that you can plan an evening, but I hate to add to your “to do” list given your busy schedule. I'd be happy to find an appropriate spot and make a reservation._

 **E** : _All right, deal. But I'm paying. You saved me plenty in babysitting tonight._

 **K** : _Fair enough._

 **E** : _Good. Go to bed._

 **K** : _Yes, milady._

 **E** : _(Eyeroll emoji.)_

 **K** : _Goodnight, Swan._

 **E** : _Goodnight._

In the end, Einhorn hadn't shown, and Emma decided to call it at night at one as promised. She'd follow up again tomorrow with the contact who'd called in the tip. Maybe she would head back over here and scope the place out more after she got the kids off to school in the morning.

She found a parking spot a block away from the building (not bad given the lateness of the hour) and headed inside. When she got upstairs, she paused by Killian's door before unlocking her own. They had last texted just after midnight, and she hoped that he had gone to bed, but her intuition and a very dim light radiating from under his door told her that he hadn't.

She sighed and shook her head, and then very noisily jostled her keys in the lock before shutting her door firmly behind her in the hope that he would hear her if he was awake and know she was home safely, but that her sleeping kids would not be disturbed.

Thankfully, when she entered her kids' room to check on them, they were both sleeping peacefully. Emma touched each of them gently as she said a silent goodnight, brushing back Henry's hair from his forehead before turning to her daughter and placing her hand on Hope's chest, feeling her little heart pumping away.

She smiled softly and went to bed.

 

Hours later, Emma was awakened by Hope's cries. These were sharp and terrified, not her usual nighttime whimpers when she had a bad dream. Emma leapt out of bed and bounded across the hall to check on her. Henry was already kneeling next to the bed, trying to get the little girl's attention, but she had recoiled back towards the wall, crying and wailing “No, no, no!” Her eyes were open, but Emma could tell that she wasn't seeing her or Henry. Her face was a mask of terror.

Horrified, Emma leaned across the bed and grabbed the little girl, pulling her towards her even as she thrashed. She pulled her against her chest and spoke quietly but firmly into her ear. “Hope, honey, it's mommy. I'm right here, you're safe in your room. It's okay. Please wake up!” At that, she pulled back a little to look the girl in the face to see if she had returned to wakefulness. Thankfully, Hope was now awake and staring back at her with recognition in her wet eyes.

“Hi, sweetie,” Emma soothed. “You're okay, it was just a dream.”

“Geez, that was a bad one,” Henry breathed, apparently rattled as well. “Hope, what were you dreaming?”

In response, the little girl just shook her head firmly and burrowed into Emma's chest. After rubbing her back and giving her a few more soothing words, Emma picked up Hope to take her across to her room and told Henry she'd let her sleep in her bed for the rest of the night.

“Good call. Goodnight, Mom,” was his tired reply.

Emma carried Hope to the bathroom and gave her a small sip of water from the plastic cup they kept next to the sink. Then, they went into Emma's room, where she laid the girl down in her queen sized bed, and snuggled her close.

“You're okay, baby,” Emma said again. Emma's own heartbeat had finally calmed down, and she noticed that Hope's had started to even out again as well, the nightmare hopefully forgotten.

“Yeah, I'm okay,” the little girl breathed sleepily.

“Good.” Emma replied, watching closely as Hope closed her eyes again.

When Emma thought her daughter had fallen back asleep, she suddenly spoke again, “Is Daddy still here?”

Emma stiffened. Shit.

She considered her next words carefully. “Sweetie, Henry and I are here, just like always.”

“Noooo,” Hope whined, though still only half-conscious, “Daddy was here. He read me a story. Will he be here tomorrow?”

Emma felt like her breath had been stolen. What the hell was happening? But she managed to respond, “We can see Killian tomorrow, if that's what you mean, but-”

“Good,” Hope interrupted and promptly fell asleep.

Emma, however, did not sleep again that night.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope that I moved the story along enough and built some suspense. Also, Hope and Killian just own my soul right now. They are so cute!


	4. Chapter 4

Emma looked at the clock on her bedside table again: 5:33 a.m. She figured that was close enough. There was no way sleep was coming at this point, so she gave up. She leaned over and kissed Hope, still next to her in bed and still in a deep, deep sleep. Then she got up to face the day.

She went to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and sat down at the table to wait for it to brew.

As she waited, she pondered where the hell she had gone wrong.

Daddy. Hope, a three-and-a-half year-old child who had never known her father had referred to a man they had met less than two weeks ago as “Daddy.”

Emma started to take stock of the reasons why this had happened.

Hope was old enough to look around at her classmates' families and notice that many of them had dads or more than one mom who sometimes picked them up or dropped them off. Hope had asked once or twice why she didn't have a dad or another mom, and Emma had mumbled an explanation that not everyone did, and that she loved her and Henry enough for two parents. Hope had always seemed satisfied with that response, indulging Emma with a big bear hug and saying that she loved her too.

But maybe Hope still thought something was missing.

Emma didn't date. After her experience with Walsh, she was so bitter, disgusted, and just plain busy, that she hadn't made any effort to meet anyone. She didn't have room in her life for dating, so Hope had never seen her mom with any kind of person that she'd identify as a potential partner, until now.

Then, there was Killian himself. He was just so damn good with Hope. He was kind and sweet, but not condescending in the way that so many adults were to children her age. Hope was smart and imaginative, and the way Killian interacted with her showed that he recognized and respected that. He was just a natural with her, and of course Hope had responded to it.

Emma also had come to terms with the fact that she herself liked Killian. She liked him a lot, actually.

She considered herself to be a pretty jaded person, especially when it came to men, but this guy was gorgeous and funny and nice and made her heart skip several beats whenever he smiled back at her a certain way. Plus, there was a sadness to him. She perceived in him a world-weariness to which she related, and her intuition told her that being with her and the kids brought out a lightness in him that was usually buried deep inside.

He hadn't gotten a chance to tell her his sad story, but she knew that he had one, just like she did. It made her feel like he understood her in a very real way, and now that she'd had a taste of being with him, she craved more.

Hope was a perceptive kid. Emma had no doubt that she had picked up on her mom's reaction to Killian.

So, Emma reasoned, the burgeoning awareness that most kids had more than one parent, PLUS the presence of this kind and charming man who had immediately connected with each member of her family had clearly combined to make Hope view Killian as a father figure.

It made perfectly rational sense.

Except that something still nagged at Emma. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that there was more to it than her simple amateur psychologist's rationalization.

It still bothered her that Hope's surprising question about Killian had coincided with her worst bout of nightmares ever, and that was another set of worries that Emma needed to explore.

She returned to the coffee maker, where her pot was now complete, poured a cup, and then settled back down on the couch with her phone to research preschoolers and nightmares.

What she learned mostly comforted her. Nightmares were common, especially among children Hope's age, because kids' imaginations developed rapidly during this time. Also, it was normal that she'd start to be able to describe them in detail, even though she often wouldn't want to.

What Emma learned that bothered her, however, was that nightmares in young children could also be triggered by stress, such as a new school, a new home, or their parents' divorce. This information created a gut-churning stew of guilt and worry inside of her.

She considered the changes in their lives over the past several months. Emma's memory was fuzzy, but everything had been so hectic that she wasn't surprised that her sense of time and events had started to blur.

They had moved during the summer to this new apartment. This address allowed her to send Henry to the better public school he went to now. Plus, this building owner's daughter, who managed the rentals, had been willing to take an extra month's rent up front in lieu of a formal credit check (Emma's credit wasn't great, but she did have a little bit of cash saved.)

Emma had also changed jobs in the past month. The money was much better than it had been at her previous gig, but she was out of the house more at night on stakeouts. Maybe that was bothering Hope more than Emma had realized.

Through all of it, her kids had both  _seemed_ to be adjusting fine. Henry had no doubt experienced enough upheaval in his life that he was used to it, and for the most part, he rolled with the changes.

But perhaps she had taken her daughter's flexibility for granted. Maybe she needed to slow everything down and let Hope catch up.

She sighed as she realized that she was going to have to cancel her date (because come on, that's what it was) with Killian tomorrow night. How was she going to explain it to him? He deserved honesty from her, but she knew that she couldn't go so far as to explain what Hope had said about him last night; what she'd called him.

However, she _could_ tell him her worries about Hope's nightmares, and that all the stress and changes in her life recently were the cause. He would understand.

Still, the whole situation made Emma sad and very, very lonely. She'd been right on the cusp of being able to spend time with another adult with whom she really connected, and now she was thinking about giving that up.

She knew herself well enough to know that her usual reaction to problems, especially highly emotional ones, was to build up her own walls and just shut out whatever was causing the pain. She supposed that she did the same thing for her children, keeping the three of them safe in their own little fortress of love and trust. Because if it was just them, nobody else had the power to hurt them.

Usually, that plan made sense to her.

This time, however, the thought of building up a wall to shut out Killian filled her with grief.

As the clock ticked towards her usual 6:30 wakeup time, she heard small feet padding towards her from the direction of her room and looked up to see a very groggy and rumpled Hope entering the living room.

“Hi, Mom,” she mumbled, as she climbed into Emma's lap (Emma hurriedly set her hot coffee down on the table in front of her before the snuggly little girl could jostle it.) She put her arms around her daughter and held her close, nuzzling her still-downy soft hair and relishing the feel of her warm skin and steady breathing.

“Hi, little lovey,” Emma said. “How did you sleep?” She wasn't expecting more than the usual “okaaaaay.”

Instead, Hope replied, “I had bad dreams ( _dweams_.)”

“Oh no, I'm so sorry. Do you remember what they were about?”

Hope sighed. “I guess so, but I don't want to talk about it right now.”

Emma was frustrated, but held her tongue. She knew that there was no point in pushing a child when they didn't want to talk about something. Hope would only get more and more stubborn about keeping quiet.

Instead, Emma turned on Disney Jr. and continued to snuggle with Hope until it was time to get dressed and have breakfast so that they could all get to work and school.

 

That Friday proceeded pretty normally at first. Emma got the kids off to school and daycare on time, and she managed to track down good old Eddie Einhorn as he was leaving the same East Boston address she'd been staking out the night before.

By 3:30, she was back at the office of Max Cherry Bail Bonds making some calls and finishing paperwork, when her cell phone rang with the caller ID from Hope's day care. She answered hurriedly only to learn that Hope was fine, but very upset. She was refusing to rest at nap time and crying for Emma. They said they would keep trying to calm her down if Emma couldn't make it over early to pick her up, but they wanted to let her know (in other words, they wanted her to come get Hope now.)

Emma agreed that she would head over to pick her up right away.

She stopped into Max's office to update him on her work and let him know she had to go. He was understanding and kind, and it certainly helped that she had already caught a high value skip today. She thanked him, jogged out to her car, and drove as fast as she could to the daycare.

When she arrived, Melanie was harried but apologetic. She said that Hope was extra upset at nap time today, refusing to sleep or even sit quietly, insisting on telling the teachers and other kids that bad things, like “giant purple bugs” and “orange tornadoes” came in dreams. When one of the teachers had tried to pat her arm to soothe her, she'd jerked away and tripped over her little naptime cot, and then she had fallen into a crying fit.

Hope was still sniffling when Emma arrived and wrapped her into her arms, whispering comforting words into her ear and kissing her hair. Emma was near tears herself when she saw the despondent look on her child's face. What had gotten into her head?

Mercifully, Hope took a nap in her carseat on the drive home and appeared to sleep peacefully. Emma knew that insufficient sleep was a huge factor in making kids irritable and emotional, and maybe the meltdown at daycare had been fueled by the little girl's late bedtime and restless sleep. Still, Emma was bothered by Hope's obvious terror of her nightmares. They sounded awful, and she felt helpless in her inability to take them away.

She had texted Henry that she'd be home early, and he was home waiting for them with two cups of hot chocolate and a really sweet idea he'd found on the Internet about how to help Hope. A parenting site had suggested that you and the child make a bright and colorful sign that said “Only Good Dreams Allowed Here” and hang it over the little one's bed.

Hope loved the idea, and she ran to get paper and crayons from her room so that she and Henry could sit at the dining table and make their sign.

“You know,” Henry said to Emma,“there are also Native American Dreamcatchers. They're supposed to catch and trap nightmares before they make it into your head or something.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. “Flypaper for nightmares,” she whispered. Something about that idea bothered her; maybe because Neal had a dreamcatcher when they first met. “I like the sign idea,” she told him. “Thanks for thinking of it. You are an all-star big brother. Really, the best around.”

He grinned at her and then sat down next to Hope, who had returned with sign-making supplies.

Emma set to the task of preparing dinner, pushing aside that nagging feeling that she still hadn't told Killian that she needed to cancel their date tomorrow night. She knew that she should tell him in person, but any attempt she made to go across the hall when he got home would inevitably met with a request from Hope that they all get to see him. The little girl had already asked when they were going to see Killian again about a dozen times that day. Now, Emma felt stuck.

In the end, she decided to tell a little white lie. After dinner, Henry and Hope settled onto the couch to watch 'Zootopia' for the hundredth time (and Henry didn't complain, he just cuddled up sweetly with his sister.) Emma told them that she'd forgotten to get the mail. Instead, however, she went across the hall and knocked softly on Killian's door.

He was home, and when he answered the door she smelled pasta sauce cooking on the stove. He smiled at her warmly as he greeted her.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt your dinner, I won't keep you,” Emma said looking past him into the apartment, then at his chest; anywhere but into those astute and mischievous blue eyes of his. She still wasn't sure what she was going to say to blow off their date.

“Nonsense!” he said sincerely. “Can you come in for a moment?”

She nodded and entered. He closed the door behind them.

His apartment was neat but very sparsely decorated, which made sense given that he'd just moved in. She noticed that there didn't seem to be any personal mementos, like family photographs, on his shelves or walls, and that made her sad and even more curious to find out what his story was. It gave her heart a sad little twist to realize that she was there to tell him that they shouldn't spend as much time together.

He offered her a seat on the tiny couch, but she declined, and instead they stood at the end of the entryway, near his small kitchen that was a mirror image of hers (just devoid of sippy straw cups and children's cutlery.)

He seemed to sense that she was stressed. “Is everything all right, Emma? Are the kids okay?”

At his genuine concern, the stress of the day and her lack of sleep the previous night seemed to catch up with her, and she was mortified to feel her eyes stinging with tears. He must have seen her struggling, because he took a half step closer to her and seemed to be considering whether to reach out for her, but she shook her head softly and managed to steel herself.

“Killian,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “I am really happy that we met you. You have been incredibly nice to us, and we've had a lot of fun spending time with you over the past couple of weeks.”

His brow furrowed as he listened, and he looked hurt, like he knew there was a “but” coming, but he let her continue to talk.

“It's just that Hope has been having some trouble lately...problems sleeping mostly, and now some issues at school.” The crease in his brow deepened with worry, and she felt a pang of affection for him that he should be worried about her little girl too.

“I think that maybe all the changes I've put her through over the past couple of months have caught up with her. She seems...confused about certain things. She's just so little. And I'm worried that if you and I start...something, even if it's just one date...” She trailed off when she saw understanding dawn in his eyes.

“That adding me into the mix on top of everything would just be more upheaval, more strain.” He paused thoughtfully and added, “Or perhaps it already has been. I see.” He looked down, suddenly unable to meet _her_ eyes.

She couldn't help it; she reached out and grabbed his hand. It was soft and warm, and the shared touch sent a wave of feeling through her that both squeezed her heart and awakened something low in her belly. He looked back up at her again searchingly.

“I don't mean that I don't want to see you at all, or that we all can't be friends,” she went on, her tone firm, but full of underlying emotion. “I just don't want to introduce any more change than I already have. I want to see if I can get her back into a normal routine, if she can start sleeping through the night. Maybe it's an extreme reaction, but I'm just a little scared.” Her voice finally broke on the last two words and she had to stop talking.

His eyes were still full of worry and hurt, but he gave her a nod of reassurance. “Emma, you know what is best for her, and you have to do what you think is right. My heart would break if I was the cause of any additional stress or confusion for the young lass.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand a little at that, and he squeezed back. God, it was getting hard not to just start crying and collapse into his arms. She knew that he would comfort her. Instead, she nodded, preparing to release his hand and say goodnight, when he spoke again.

“Emma, please, if you need someone to talk to...I know I'm not a parent, and I don't have anything like the knowledge and experience that you have when it comes to caring for your daughter, but I can be here for you. Even if you have to sneak over here again, or perhaps we can meet in the city one day for lunch. I just...you don't have to go through this alone.”

Her eyes were close to spilling over with tears now, and she didn't trust herself to speak. She hadn't had any idea how much she'd wanted someone exactly like him in her life until she'd met him, and pushing him away now hurt like hell. She bit her lip to keep from crying, squeezed his hand one more time, nodded, and left.

In the hallway, she took a moment to dab at her eyes and gather herself, and then quietly returned to her family.

That night, Hope didn't cry out enough to wake Emma, although the next morning Henry said that he heard her whimpering in her sleep and that she had thrashed around for a few minutes. When he was telling Emma this, he seemed to start to add something else to his recollection but then checked himself and stopped.

Saturday passed relatively uneventfully, full of playtime with Hope, chores, and errands. Hope did ask about Killian about 37 times, by Emma's conservative estimate. She didn't refer to him as the “D” word again; she just wanted to know if he could come over to play, or to read another story, or to have lunch with her, or to have some ice cream...

Each time, Emma put her off, explaining that Killian was probably busy and that being friends with someone didn't mean that you had to see them every single day. Hope didn't seem to buy that, and she pouted off and on throughout the day, only perking up when Emma took them out to a nearby park where Henry pushed her as high as she could go on a swing.

Back at home, Emma tried not to look at the clock as the evening passed, thinking about how she almost had been sitting in a quiet restaurant talking to a kind, funny, and spectacularly understanding man with piercing blue eyes. Instead, she focused on her kids. After dinner, Hope seemed to finally resign herself that they weren't going to see their new best friend today, and she settled down for their nighttime routine. Emma genuinely enjoyed giving Hope a bath, reading her a couple of stories, and snuggling with her at bedtime as she prayed to whatever deity would listen for another relatively peaceful night for the little girl.

 

Killian couldn't stay home. As he had looked in his fridge and perused delivery menus on the Internet, it became increasingly clear that he needed to get out of his dull, stuffy apartment and get his mind off of the people across the hall and the date that he _wasn't_ on with Emma Swan. So he put on his boots, grabbed his black leather jacket, and headed out into the night to find the nearest and darkest bar.

He wasn't angry with Emma for cancelling on him, nor was he really even hurt that she thought he might be part of the upheaval that was causing Hope's troubles. She had to do everything in her power to try to ease the little girl's mind. He could see the deep, primal love Emma felt for that child, and he could even relate to it; because in just the short time he'd known the family, he was starting to love Hope too.

He turned this thought over in his head as he found a local bar on Commonwealth Avenue and settled onto a bar stool. The place was one of those joints that was trying to _seem_ like a dive bar in order to appeal to hipsters' sense of what was cool, but of course it still carried the craft beer that they liked. Killian scanned the taps but ended up ordering his old standby on a lonely night: rum, neat.

As he drank, he wondered, why had Emma and her family taken such a strong and immediate hold on his heart? He had never been one to dream about having children of his own. Most of his relationships over the past ten years had been with women who were like him, living on the fringes of respectable society, doing what they wanted and leaving when they were done.

He'd once believed himself to have been in love, but it was with a married woman who already had a child. There was a time when he had envisioned having a family with her, or even taking in her son if she could get custody from her estranged husband. As it happened, though, she left him, and he never yearned for any kind of family again. He figured that, after his brother died, and after his own accident and discharge from the military, that kind of normal life just wasn't in the cards for him.

In the last couple of weeks, however, the magnificent Emma Swan and her enchanting children had changed his entire outlook. He had gotten a glimpse of what it would be like to live with purpose; to have his true north be to love and protect a family, and to make them happy. Despite only having known them a short time, he had never experienced anything so fulfilling in all of his life.

But now, as he sat alone in the dank bar, he realized that the last two weeks might just have been a tease. Part of him hated that he was wallowing in his disappointment and on the verge of despair. After all, Emma had said that they could all still try to be friends. But he knew that she would do whatever it took to protect her children, and if she had done that all these years without him in their lives, she could easily continue to do it without him.

As the night progressed, he ordered a couple more drinks and nursed them as he tried to pay attention to the baseball game on the TV above the bar. Around 10 o'clock, two women sidled up to him and asked if he was waiting for a friend. They were clearly hitting on him, and when he said that he wasn't waiting for anyone, they didn't seem discouraged and continued to hint that they _both_ would keep him company if he bought them drinks. In the past, he might have obliged, but tonight, he found their vapid flirting and overdone hair and makeup to be extraordinarily off-putting. In order to extricate himself from the situation politely, he ordered them their drinks, paid for them, and then quietly left the bar after throwing back the dregs of his fourth glass of rum.

He walked straight home, figuring that he'd drank enough to help him fall asleep at least. As he entered the building and headed to the staircase, he heard the familiar click of Mrs. Xavier's door lock. She stuck her head out of her door as he turned to look at her.

He was caught again, he thought, as she sized him up, no doubt seeing his rumpled clothes (he hadn't bothered to change out of jeans and an old t-shirt before going out) and bleary eyes.

“Oh, Mr. Jones, how are you?” She asked him. Her voice was like a croak and sounded as if she hadn't spoken to anyone else all day.

“I'm fine, Mrs. Xavier. Thank you for asking. How are you? Is there anything I can do for you?”

He guessed that she was probably just lonely, but he always thought that it couldn't hurt to ask the old woman whether she needed help with anything, like chores or groceries.

“Oh, you're too sweet,” she replied. “But I'm just fine. In fact, I thought you might be spending time helping Miss Swan and her family this weekend. You all seemed to be getting on so well, and you must be such a help to her.”

“No, not tonight. I'm sure she and the kids are fine, though.”

Mrs. Xavier smiled strangely, “Yes, I am too. Well, I won't keep you. Goodnight, Mr. Jones.” And she shut the door.

Killian was surprised. It was weird that she would let him out of a conversation so easily, but he would take small favors where he could get them. He made his way up the stairs, only pausing for a moment to wistfully stare at the Swan family's door and wonder how they were, and went inside to bed.

 

Although Saturday had passed quietly for Emma, Hope, and Henry, the early morning hours on Sunday were a trial. Emma's bedside table clock read 3:55 AM when she awoke to Hope's cries, and she sprinted into the kids' bedroom to find the now-familiar scene of Henry trying to comfort his terrified sister. This time, when Emma grabbed her and pulled her towards her, Hope's yelling stopped suddenly, and she stared at Emma for a moment with unseeing eyes, her mouth working in some kind of silent, terrified plea. Emma had never been so scared in her life.

“Hope!!” she screamed. “Wake up!!” She shook her gently, repeating her plea and reminding the girl that she was safe in her room. Finally, after a few breathless seconds that felt like hours, Hope blinked and collapsed into Emma.

“Mom,” Henry whispered after a few minutes of silence when they'd all started breathing again. “This is NOT normal. She started yelling in her sleep, and I swear, the stuff on her shelves was _shaking_!”

“What?” Emma asked him wearily, turning her head towards him and continuing to clutch her daughter to her chest. “Yeah, it's like...like an earthquake or something, but only on her side of the room. I noticed it the other night too. Look, her picture even fell over!” He indicated the family picture on the shelf next to Hope's bed, which was now lying face down in its spot next to the silk butterfly.

“Henry,” Emma pleaded. Her son had mostly grown out of the overactive imagination he'd developed in his youth. She didn't need him bringing it back now to add drama to Hope's situation. “You were probably just dreaming, and Hope must have knocked that picture over earlier.”

Hope pulled back from Emma for a minute and sniffed. “I didn't do that, Mom. I didn't knock it over.”

“Okay, baby, I know. It's okay,” Emma replied. She pulled back to look Hope in the eyes. “Sweetheart, I want to help you with these bad dreams. Is there anything that you can remember about what you were dreaming?”

A shadow crossed Hope's features as she attempted to try to remember her dream. “I just...it feels like I'm by myself and I can't find you guys, and then the lady with the bugs comes and they try to take it from me.”

“Take what, honey?”

“I don't know,” the little girl whined with frustration. “Something. Just something inside of me.”

“What does the lady look like?”

“I don't rememberrr....” She paused for a minute and looked over at Henry. “Our sign didn't work, Hen-wy.”

“I know. Sorry, kid,” he replied sadly.

“That's okay,” Hope sniffed.

“Thanks for telling me what you could about your dream, baby,” Emma said. “Let's go to Mommy's room.” She gathered Hope back up in arms and returned with her to her own large bed for the rest of the night. Hope fought sleep for a long time, pleading that she was scared but refusing to tell Emma any more about her dream.

Eventually, they both slept fitfully.

 

Sunday, they ran into Killian again. Emma supposed that it was bound to happen eventually. Henry was upstairs doing homework, and Emma and Hope were entertaining themselves by doing chalk drawings on the sidewalk when Killian approached, a couple of reusable grocery bags full of food swung over his shoulder.

He looked a little shy when he greeted Emma, like he was unsure whether he should stay to chat or just rush inside. But she was genuinely happy to see him, especially after their harrowing night, and she smiled warmly at him as she said hello.

Hope of course, was thrilled, jumping up from the orange blob she was drawing on the pavement at the foot of the steps and running to greet him with a hug around his knees. He glanced at Emma with worry, but she smiled and shrugged, and so he affectionately reached down to pat the little girl's head in return.

Emma's breath caught in her chest when she saw the wistful expression on his face. She again felt like she was being torn in half; one side terrified of letting this man in too close, too fast; and the other feeling certain that someone who seemed to care about them this much absolutely belonged in their lives.

Hello, little lass, what are you drawing today?” Killian asked Hope as she pulled away from his legs.

She shrugged a little sadly. “Oh, I don't know,” she replied dejectedly. “I wanted it to be an octopus but it doesn't look like one.”

“An orange octopus is a fine idea,” he said excitedly, glancing again for approval at Emma, as he placed his bags down on the pavement and knelt beside Hope's blob-like chalk drawing. He picked up the orange piece of chalk from the ground and began to add eight arms, somehow quickly converting Hope's creation into a more than passable octopus shape. Hope broke into a broad grin as she watched him work.

“And what color spots should our octopus have, Lady Hope?”

“Purple and blue!” She cried happily, seeing their creation come together. With flourish, Killian picked out the purple and blue chalk pieces and presented to them to her. She continued to grin as she took the purple piece and proceeded to draw vaguely circular-shaped spots on the octopus, and he did the same with the blue.

Emma's heart swelled as she watched them. He was just such a damn natural with Hope, and she felt guilt twist in her gut at the way her usual instincts and habits had driven her to push him away.

Killian completed their chalk art by drawing a goofy smiley face on the head of the octopus, and Hope clapped her hands together in delight. He finished by scrawling his initials next to it and guiding Hope's hand so that she could do the same.

He beamed at the little girl as she went over to Emma, still sitting on the steps, took her by the hand, and led her over to get a closer look at the drawing. Emma praised it effusively of course.

Killian then rose to his feet and picked up his grocery bags.

“It was lovely to see you both. Hope, thank you for allowing me to assist you with your creation.”

“You're welcome!” Hope replied.

He looked at Emma and said, “Well, I should be getting this stuff upstairs and into the refrigerator. Good evening, Lady Hope. Emma.”

“Killian!” Emma called nervously as he turned to go, realizing she had no idea what she was going to say but needing to say something. “It's going to be nice out this week; it's not getting too cold yet,” she blurted out. “We'll probably have dinner down here one or two nights. Maybe you could join us?”

He hesitated, and his face was serious as he searched her eyes.

Then, of course, Hope chimed in, “Yes! That's a great (she pronounced it 'gwaaaaaate') idea!”

He looked down at her, broke into a smile, and replied, “That sounds wonderful. I'll see you ladies this week.”

That night was mercifully quiet. Emma let Hope sleep in her bed all night, and though Emma woke up to the girl whimpering in the small hours of the morning, Hope did not awaken from her dreams.

 

On Monday, Emma got a tip on an outstanding skip that meant she'd have to do another stakeout that night. Her plan to rush through Hope's daycare pickup routine so that she could get home, get the kids a quick dinner and change before going out again was derailed when the daycare director asked to see Emma in her office before she left.

After Emma had been seated in the director's office, the woman kindly and diplomatically suggested that some parents found it helpful to see a child psychologist to address severe sleep and behavior issues. She said that she would email Emma a list of recommended specialists.

Emma's heart sunk when the director used the word “severe.” She was really trying to be optimistic and hope that her daughter's issues would improve on their own, but the outside opinion was sobering. She thanked the director and left, agreeing to consider calling one of the psychologists if Hope's nightmares did not abate.

She continued to think about it as she sat in her dark car in Somerville, watching the dive-y bar her skip supposedly frequented and hoping that he showed up soon. Hope had done better last night, and despite the daycare director's concern, they hadn't mentioned any new issues at school today. Still, Hope referring to Killian as “Daddy” nagged at her. Emma wanted to find a way to have him in their lives without confusing Hope, and maybe an outside specialist could help her find the best way to do that.

As it turned out, Emma was successful in tracking down her target that night, but it meant that she didn't get home until after two. Thankfully, the kids were sleeping peacefully in their room, and Emma went to bed.

She had barely fallen asleep herself when the now sickeningly familiar sounds of Hope's cries came from the kids' bedroom. This time, when Emma went to her side, Hope was screaming, “No, no, don't! Don't hurt him! He's going to fall!”

Emma shook her gently as usual and firmly assured the little girl that she was home safe in bed, and that everyone was okay.

“No, no, no, please don't hurt my daddy!” Hope cried again, wrestling away from Emma's grip.

This time, Emma yelled, begging her daughter to wake up, and grasping her hand even as the girl tried to bat her away. The yelling and hand holding eventually worked, and Hope finally opened her eyes all the way and blinked at Emma. Emma sighed with relief, thinking Hope would calm down now, but instead, she continued to cry out. “Where is he? Where is Daddy? She was going to push him! He was going to fall!”

At this, Henry who was watching from the edge of his bed, groggily breathed, “Mom, what is she _talking_ about?”

Emma ignored him for the moment as she continued to console Hope, “Honey, Henry and I are here. We're fine. Everyone is fine. You were just having a bad dream.”

Hope was obstinate. She pulled away from Emma again and stood up on her bed. She stomped her little foot on the bedspread. “No, I wasn't, it was real. She was going to  _hurt_ him!” Her words had a hysterical edge that Emma had never heard from her before.

Suddenly, Hope picked up the butterfly from the shelf beside her, gripping its plastic bell jar tightly and throwing it onto the floor in frustration and anger. The jar hit the floor so hard that the plastic part separated from its wooden base.

Emma continued to plead with Hope, insisting that everyone was okay, and that it was just a dream. But the little girl kept fighting her and batting away Emma's hands before finally collapsing onto the bed in a mess of frightened sobs, fat tears streaming down her little round cheeks.

Finally, Emma couldn't take it any more. “Henry,” she said softly as she snuggled Hope to her chest and rubbed her back as she cried. “Can you go across the hall and get Killian?”

“What?” he replied. “Why?”

“Just, please go get him. I know he'll be asleep. Just pound hard on the door. He'll come with you.”

He nodded and left the room. Emma continued to soothe Hope as best she could, but she knew that the only thing that was going to make her feel better was to see for herself that the man across the hall was unhurt.

It couldn't have been more than two or three minutes later that Killian burst into the room, clad in navy blue and white plaid pajama pants and a grey t-shirt. His hair was rumpled, and he wore no brace, and Emma felt a quick pang of guilt for forcing him out of bed in such a vulnerable state.

Standing there in the doorway, he didn't seem to be self-conscious, but there was fear and worry in his eyes as he focused on what must have been the pitiful sight of Hope and Emma sitting on the bed before him. As Emma looked at him, she could only imagine the mix of terror and gratitude on her face. He took a few steps towards them and knelt down.

“Little love, what is this I hear about another bad dream?” His voice was rough but admirably cheerful for three in the morning or whatever it was.

Hope's sobs paused as she pulled her head away from Emma's chest. She looked at Killian for a beat, seeming to take him in, making sure he was whole, and then she leapt into his arms.

The strength of her embrace set him off balance a little, but he quickly regained it, settling back on one knee as he threw his arms around her in return.

Hope continued to sob, but this time it seemed to be with relief. “I th-th-thought you fell. She pushed you!” She stammered.

“Nobody pushed me, love,” he soothed. “I'm just fine. I'm right here.” He rubbed her back as she sat on his bent knee and cried, her face buried in his neck.

Emma didn't know what to say. She didn't understand why her daughter had such a visceral, emotional fear of harm coming to this man, but she couldn't question what was right in front her. Hope's terror was as real as it could be.

Henry just started at them agape, occasionally looking back to Emma for some kind of clarification, but when he met her eyes, she just shook her head as if to say, “later.”

After a few minutes, Hope's sobbing started to subside, and Emma realized that Killian had to be uncomfortable holding the little girl while kneeling on the floor.

“Hope, sweetie, let's get you over to my room so that Henry can go back to sleep,” Emma said, placing her hand on Hope's back.

Hope sniffled, her face still buried in Killian's neck. “Okay, but I want Daddy to carry me.”

At that, all the air went out of the room.

“Mommmm, what the -” Henry breathed.

Killian looked up and met Emma's eyes, and she returned his gaze guiltily, knowing he'd realize that it wasn't the first time Hope had referred to him as her father. To his credit, he took it in stride.

“Come on, little lass, let's sail away,” he said to Hope as he stood and looked to Emma to lead them out of the room.

Before she did so, Emma took a step toward Henry and patted his head in silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay, but she knew he'd be looking for an explanation soon.

She turned and led Killian across the hall to her bedroom, and he carried Hope to the bed and gently placed her down on the sheets. The little girl showed no signs of releasing the grip she had around his neck, so Killian carefully sat down with her, his right leg bent slightly so that his thigh and knee rested on the bed next to Hope, with his left foot flat on the floor. The little girl cuddled into him and sighed.

The whole time, Killian stroked her hair with his hand and gazed at her with such open adoration and concern that Emma couldn't prevent a lump from forming in her throat. After a few minutes, she managed to speak. “I'll just check on Henry and get Hope some water.”

Killian nodded, looking up at her with a mixture of worry and determination in his eyes. She mustered a smile, of thanks or reassurance, she wasn't sure, and he smiled sadly back.

She stopped into the kids' room to tell Henry good night and promised him that they'd talk in the morning; that Hope was obviously going through something, but they were going to figure out a way to deal with it.

Next, she filled up one of Hope's straw cups with water in the kitchen, and headed back to her own room. She knew that she should probably be worried about how Killian would react to this situation. Maybe she should even feel mortified that her child had fixated on him to this extent.

But she wasn't either of those things. Right now, she was just relieved that the terror Hope had been feeling seemed to have abated. She was grateful to Killian for coming to help and not asking questions (yet), but she wasn't the least bit surprised that he had been able to calm Hope so easily.

She wasn't prepared, however, for the wave of emotion that crashed over her when she returned to her room.

Killian and Hope were still snuggled together just as she'd left them, but now the little girl wore a peaceful expression, and Killian was singing to her as she fell asleep.

_Oh the morning sun in all its glory_

_Greets the day with hope and comfort too_

_You fill my life with laughter_

_And you can make it better_

_Ease my troubles, that's what you do_

She stood in the doorway and listened to his soft tenor as he sang the song to Hope. Her eyes immediately filled with tears, not just because of the goddamn perfection of the song (she _loved_ that that song), and the relief she felt at seeing her little girl calm and comforted. No, it was more than that. There was something  _familiar_ about the tableaux in front of her; the two of them cuddled up like that, his lovely voice in the otherwise quiet room. She felt no sense of awkwardness about having this man she'd met only recently sitting on her bed with her kid.

Emma Swan, who avoided intimacy as much as she could, should have been totally freaked out by this, but instead, it felt perfectly, comfortably, domestic and _normal_.

She didn't know what to do with that, so she just continued to watch and listen.

When the song was over, it was clear from Hope's breathing that she was asleep. Emma stepped towards the pair of them and placed the water on the nightstand for later. She and Killian worked together to gently peel Hope away from Killian's side and place her down onto Emma's pillow, where she continued to slumber peacefully.

Killian stood, and they wordlessly watched the little girl for a moment. Finally, Emma smoothed back Hope's blonde waves, kissed her forehead, and left the room with Killian at her heels.

He followed her to the kitchen where she quietly pulled two glass tumblers out of the cabinet and set them down on the counter. Then, she rummaged in one of the other high cabinets until she found an old bottle of Bushmill's that she'd had since forever. She poured them each just a finger.

They each picked up a glass and in silent agreement moved to the couch. They both took sips of the whiskey before Emma spoke.

“I really love that song,” she told him.

“Aye, me too,” he replied. He then added, “Of course I was singing the original, the Van Morrison version, lest you think me schmaltzy or uncool.”

She grinned in reply, and her burden eased just a little. “Of course.”

“Is it like that every night?” He asked, a clear note of worry in his voice.

“No, not that bad. Usually I can console her. This was the worst yet.”

He nodded. “Has she spoken of me before in this state?”

Emma sighed. “Not exactly...”

“But?” he replied, and she felt him studying her face as she looked down at her glass.

She sighed. “It's not the first time that she's referred to you as 'Daddy.' She did the other night, after Henry's presentation. She had a nightmare, and when she woke up she asked if 'Daddy' was still here.”

“I see.” He paused then added, “Is that why you cancelled our date?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah. Look, she's never done anything like this before. I mean, she's so little...but I always thought she understood that our family was just the three of us, and that it was okay. For whatever reasons, she's fixated on you. I just thought, out of sight-out of mind might be the safest option.”

She paused to let him take this in and worried that he'd be completely freaked out by this turn of events.

He must have sensed her worry and embarrassment, because he comforted her, setting his glass on the coffee table so that he could gently take her left hand in his right. She closed her eyes at the contact; she couldn't help it. Once again, the sense that she wasn't alone in this, that she didn't have to be the only grownup fighting for and worried about her daughter, hit her and filled her with relief. Tears sprung to her eyes again.

She didn't have a free hand to dab at her eyes, and he must have noticed her tears, so he released her hand and gently wiped at her eyes with his thumb. She smiled and rolled her eyes a little, “Such a gentleman.

“Always.”

“Look, Killian,” Emma said firmly, gathering herself. “I just want you to know that I am going to deal with this. I have the numbers of some recommended psychologists from Hope's school. I'm going to take her in to talk to one of them and get some advice about how to get her to stop...fixating on you, I guess, to fill that other parent role she feels like she's missing, or whatever she's doing.”

He nodded but seemed to be struggling to think of what to say, and then Emma felt awkward again. She was suddenly very aware that she was sitting there in her pajamas with a tangled bun in her hair and tear-stained cheeks, and that they'd pulled this guy out of bed in the middle of the night because of family drama.

“I should let you get back to bed,” she said. “I promise, I will deal with this tomorrow, er, today, and that we won't be pounding on your door in the middle of the night again.”

“No, Emma, please, don't worry about that,” he replied, meeting her eyes and taking her hand again. “I don't mind at all. I'm just...trying to understand how we got here. I feel like it's my fault, that Hope has this notion in her head, and I'm sorry for the strife it's causing you.”

That it should be _his_ fault hadn't even occurred to Emma, and she shook her head fiercely. “No way, Killian, you should NOT feel bad about any of this. You've been an amazing friend to us the last few weeks.” She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed hers back, sending a little thrill up her arms and spine.

“This is nobody's fault,” she said firmly. “It's just a thing that she's going through that I have to deal with.”

He nodded. “Okay, but Emma, please know that I will help you in any way that I can. If that means coming over and comforting her when she's scared, I'll do that, no matter the time. And I suppose that if the experts say that I should stay away, I'll do that too.” That second option obviously saddened him, because he seemed to struggle to get the last few words out. The forlorn sound of his voice gave Emma's heart a little squeeze.

She nodded slowly, her heart sinking at the idea that the best solution might be for him to keep his distance. Even though she had tried that tactic herself, she knew in her heart that she didn't want him to stay away, but she had to do what was best for Hope if it came to that.

“Well, I should be going,” Killian said after another minute of quiet as they both sipped their whiskey.

“Yeah, sorry again for the late night emergency,” Emma said ruefully as they both stood.

“Oh, anytime,” he joked as they stepped towards the door.

She opened the door, and he opened his mouth to say goodnight but seemed to be struggling with the words. Instead, before he could speak, she stepped towards him and wrapped her arms around his midsection, gently leaning her head against his chest. He responded immediately, wrapping his arms around her back, his large hand pressed palm down between her shoulder blades. She felt him rest the side of his face against her hair, and she pulled herself against him even closer, emboldened now that he was returning the intimate gesture of comfort.

She felt him reach up and stroke the back of her neck, tickling the loose hairs that had come out from her messy knot. Suddenly, she was very conscious that the clothing separating them was quite thin. She wore a sleep tank top under an open cardigan, and her awareness that her breasts were pressed up against his strong chest was instantly arousing.

He must have felt the electricity too, because he took half a step back, breaking some of the contact between them and making sure that their lower halves weren't touching at all. Finally, they disentangled their arms.

Maybe Emma should have been embarrassed at the situation, but she wasn't. It was late, and she was tired, and embracing him had felt as natural as breathing. He stood looking at her with affection in his eyes, and then reached up to stroke her cheek with his knuckles before nodding and saying a final good night. She smiled at him warmly as he left and returned to her room to be with Hope.

 

Back in his apartment, Killian poured a glass of cold water in the kitchen and took a drink. He stood at the sink and took deep breaths, trying to calm the arousal that the embrace with Emma had awakened in him so that he could focus on trying to make sense of the rest of the evening.

He  _really_ didn't mind being called to help them in the middle of the night. He adored that little girl, and he knew that he would do anything for her, and for Emma and Henry.

The strange thing was, when Henry had knocked on Killian's door, he was already awake, having himself just woken up from an odd and frightening dream.

He'd been in a forest, climbing a rocky cliff, the wooded top of which was 30 feet above him as he climbed. When he looked slightly to his left, to the end of his leather-clad left arm, he saw that he wasn't wearing his normal prosthetic with it's small rounded piece of metal on the end, but rather a large, fierce looking hook that was digging into the rock face.

He didn't know where he was or why he was climbing, just that he had to get to the top quickly. Suddenly, he heard the terrified screams of a little girl coming from the top of the cliff, and he knew immediately that they were the cries of Hope Swan. He pushed himself harder and climbed faster, even as his black jeans tore at the knees, and he bloodied his hand by gripping the rock so hard. He just needed, with every fiber of his being, to get to her.

Finally, he reached the top and clambered up over the edge to find the small child in the grip of a purple-clad woman whose back was to him. In his peripheral vision, he sensed movement in the surrounding woods and heard a low buzzing. Something sinister was in there, watching them and waiting.

Hope cried out when she saw him, “Daddy!”

“Let her go!” he cried, starting to approach them.

Then, the woman turned. He had no sense of her facial features other than an expression of hate and cold, purposeful _want_. However, he did see her eyes, which glowed yellow-orange as she stared at him. She kept one pale, gnarled and grayish hand on Hope's arm, while raising the other and sending a blast of energy at him that pushed him back towards the cliff he had just climbed.

Hope screamed and cried in terror as he stumbled back towards the edge of the cliff, falling down and grabbing a stray tree root to prevent himself from falling.

Hope was screaming, “No, no, don't! Don't hurt him! He's going to fall!” It broke his heart to hear the terror in her voice. He continued to clutch for purpose, but the tree root pulled free against the force from the woman's power, and he began to slide over the edge.

“No, no, no, please don't hurt my daddy!” Hope sobbed, and he tried to cry out to her, but no words came out as he began to fall.

He had awakened in a cold sweat, his heart racing. He had struggled to calm his breathing even as he dissected the events of the dream. He had been terrified for Hope in his dream, and he wondered, not for the first time, what had awakened this deep and desperate sense of protectiveness that he felt for her. Finally, he admitted to himself that it probably was connected to the other aspect of his dream that he knew he would remember for a long time to come.

For in his dream, he had known, just as surely as he had known his own name, that Hope Swan was his daughter, and that he was her daddy.

But it had been just a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about cancelling the date, but Emma's going to Emma! Seriously, I had to put myself in her shoes and try to think about what I would do if it were my kid, and I would have pulled away too. I hope the end of the chapter made up for it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a little bit of everything. Some steaminess towards the end earns this work an M. Enjoy!

The old woman (well, she was ancient, really, but she wasn't one to brag) sat alone in the dark bedroom, girding herself for battle. She wasn't arming herself with the weapons of man. No. She didn't deal in crude violent instruments of iron and steel. She wasn't even preparing to wield her magic. That was for another fight, in another time and place.

Today, she was preparing her soul (and her temper) to face those who were supposedly her allies; those most spiteful and insufferably arrogant creatures: dark fairies.

They were going to condescend to her, and maybe even chastise her, for what they will call her failures to separate the girl from her protectors. They would be angry and impatient, but they would hold it under a cold, calm veneer, acting like the all-knowing overlords where she was their pitiful servant.

But she knew better. She knew how the dark fairies craved the magic that was contained in that perfect, innocent little vessel upstairs, and she knew that they could not break through to this world to claim it without her help.

She sighed, figuring that she wasn't going to get any calmer by stewing on the situation, and closed her eyes. Instantly, her eyelids fluttered, and her body lost consciousness in the non-magical world.

When she opened her eyes, she was in the familiar expanse of the dreamscape, and her allies were waiting for her as they had arranged.

“Xanathusa, how nice of you to finally join us,” sneered Othrall as he hovered before her, his black wings buzzing behind him.

She smiled as sweetly as she could knowing that, in this realm, the glow of her yellow-orange eyes gave her smile an extra-terrifying effect. “Apologies, my friend,” she replied. “Busy planning my next moves.”

Othrall flew closer to her, followed by four of his brethren, the names of whom she hadn't bothered to learn. They were each about the size of a rodent from the non-magical realm. In fact, even though they had human-like forms and were dressed in black and purple clothing, she sneeringly liked to think of them as flying squirrels. But as much as she could chide them for their small stature, she knew that their power was nothing to be trifled with.

They were black-souled and pure evil, and in magical realms, they were feared by most other creatures. And now they believed they had found a source of magical power that, once they wielded it, would allow them to dominate all the realms.

Their problem was, this source of magic was a small girl who was not only well protected but who also currently resided in a land _without_ magic. The dark fairies were powerless to enter it, and even if they could, they had no way to take what they wanted from the child.

That was where Xanathusa, accomplished witch and former student of Morpheus, God of Dreams, had come in. She gave them the plan and the means to extract the magic that they so badly craved, and her price was simply that she get a share of it for herself.

The dark fairies' leader, Othrall, was not intimidated by Xanathusa's fearsome appearance in this plane, and that bothered her more than she'd liked to admit. Still, she held her ground as he hovered close to her face.

“The conduit has broken,” Othrall said calmly but with an unmistakable menace beneath the words.

“I am aware of that, of course,” she sneered in return. “It's nothing that can't be fixed.”

“Not easily, though, I'd wager,” he replied. His voice took on an even colder, more hateful tone as he buzzed before her. “Especially now that she has managed to pull the pirate into her dreams. We saw him there. They knew each other, who they really are. You were supposed to separate her from her protectors, and you've failed at that. Miserably.”

She spoke slowly, trying to control her rage. “I did more than anyone could have done. I got her here, didn't I? I stripped her of _most_ of her protectors. The ones that remain have no idea who they are or what she is. She is still completely vulnerable to us.”

“But it's taking too long!” Othrall screamed, losing his patience and drifting up into the air so that he looked down at her. It was an intimidation tactic, and with his sharp features and silvery-grey skin, he cut a terrifying figure. His eyes glowed red when he was in this state, and they looked at her with unbridled hate. “The pirate already found them. How long before the curse is broken? We'll lose our chance at the prize. Forever.”

Xanathusa controlled her temper, but she couldn't resist levitating herself up to face him, not giving in to his intimidation. They were in the fluid, magical dreamscape anyway, and here she had complete control over her 'physical' form.

“I understand the risks,” she sneered. “I will repair the conduit and take care of the pirate.” She paused, because this part was going to be tricky. “I just need a little bit of it. Just a touch, so that I can carry out my plan.”

Othrall studied her, evaluating her. “That wasn't the arrangement. The magic is to stay in the receptacle until all of it is collected. I won't have you absconding with any of it until I know that we have enough for our purposes.”

She sighed in frustration, and she felt her orange eyes glow even more brightly. “I have no sure way of getting him out of the way without it. My form in that realm is frail and helpless. They don't suspect a thing, but I can't affect anything without a little magic. Just a touch. The longer he stays close to them, the more we risk the curse breaking too soon. It's already fraying at the edges.”

“Are you sure that the magic will work in that world?” Othrall questioned.

“I have seen evidence that it does; that what she has is strong enough to affect their realm. If she had any idea what power she had, what she was, she'd be quite a force,” she added, almost admiringly.

Finally he nodded. “Just a touch. Take it, and work quickly, or we'll find another way to get what we want.”

She snorted ruefully, thinking, “No. You won't.” Instead she cautioned, “The magic will work, but it is unpredictable in this world. I need to find just the right balance in order to make it effective. It could take time.” The dark fairy scowled in response but stayed silent as Xanathusa followed him and his brethren to the receptacle.

 

  
After Hope's harrowing night in which only Killian could comfort her, Emma made a couple of resolutions.

First, she called the child psychologist at the top of the list that Hope's daycare director had given her, a Dr. Rose Li, and made an appointment for Friday of that week. That felt good. It felt like the beginning of a plan.

Second, she resolved that she wasn't going to cut Killian out of their lives in an effort to protect Hope. Emma now knew beyond any doubt that pushing him away was the _wrong_ choice. They might have to have a conversation with Hope about who he was to them and make sure she knew the difference between a friend and a parent, but they could handle that. Hope would understand.

At this point, Emma just knew that they were all better off with Killian in their lives. If, for some reason, the psychologist disagreed with that, well, Emma would just move on to the next shrink on the list until she found one that didn't.

Having made these decisions, she powered through her Tuesday with purpose and felt better than she had since Hope's nightmares had begun. They didn't see Killian that day. He was working a corporate event at the museum that evening. So she invited him over for dinner on Wednesday.

Thankfully, Hope was nightmare-free on Tuesday night. That relief plus their plans with Killian that evening had Emma and the kids in happy, light-hearted moods all day.

By 6:30 in the evening on Wednesday, Emma was stirring bolognese sauce on the stove and waiting for the spaghetti to finish cooking when she heard the knock on the door.

“I'll get it!” Hope cried, sprinting to the entryway from her spot at the table.

She threw open the door with such gusto that it banged back against the door stopper and started to close again before Killian entered and halted it with his shoulder.

“Hi Killian!” Hope exclaimed, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet and reaching her arms up to him as he entered.

“Hello, little lass!” he replied with gusto.

His hand and arms were full with a loaf of Italian bread wrapped in white paper and a plastic grocery bag full of more food, and he quickly stepped inside and placed them on the dining table so that he could lean down and return Hope's hug. He lifted her up and rested her on his hip, and she threw her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder as if it had always belonged there.

Watching them out of the corner of her eye as she turned off the burners on the stove, Emma supposed that she should be getting used to seeing evidence of the bond between Killian and Hope. However, every new display of natural affection between them touched her heart and made her wonder how it had come on so strong, so quickly.

“Hello, Swan,” Killian said to her as he leaned against the bit of wall that separated the kitchen from the tiny dining area. “This all smells wonderful!”

“Thanks,” she said ruefully. “Sorry, I know you just had pasta the other night, but this is one of the few things both kids eat. Plus, Henry eats like there's no tomorrow, so this is a good way to feed him a lot on the cheap.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? I brought some bread, plus some deliciously greasy looking antipasti to start with.”

“No, you're good,” she told him. “I'll put that stuff out. Just keep that one entertained.” She added, nodding to Hope, who looked up and grinned at him slyly.

“As you wish,” he replied. “So, Lady Hope, what kind of trouble can we get into before dinner?”

Her grin disappeared, and she seemed to consider his question with the gravitas that it clearly deserved. “Wellllll,” she said, drawing out the word in deep consideration, “I'm not supposed to draw with markers ( _mawkaws_ ) without a grownup helping...”

Killian glanced at Emma for approval, who grinned and nodded quickly. “Well then, lass,” Killian said gallantly to Hope, “I will be your grownup. Lead the way to the forbidden markers!”

Hope showed him to the childproofed drawer at the edge of the kitchen where Emma kept her markers for special coloring occasions, and after he impressively navigated the tricky child lock with one hand, they set off to the living room to find some paper and make some art.

Henry came out from the kids' room to help Emma get dinner on the table, and soon the four of them were squeezed around the little round table dishing up the food.

With the four of them together, the evening took on a slightly celebratory air. Emma knew that one peaceful night from Hope did not mean that their troubles were behind them, but she felt good knowing that she was taking steps to solve the problem. And not only was she not avoiding Killian, she also wasn't carrying around the secret that Hope had referred to him as “Daddy” last Thursday night. Killian knew about that now, and he was there to help her take care of the little girl and ease her troubles.

Hope had graduated from a high chair to a booster seat, and she was pretty good about eating independently. Pasta could be a bit tricky of course. To limit the mess, Emma cut up the long noodles first, went easy on the sauce, and served it in a bowl.

Killian was attentive and helpful throughout dinner, helping Hopel to stab at errant noodles when she was struggling and dabbing at her messy face with a napkin whenever she'd let him. It made the meal more relaxing than usual for Emma, and she thought she could get used to this.

They chatted as they ate, and eventually Killian asked Henry how his excellent school presentation on technology had been received.

“I got an A, so I guess the teacher liked it,” Henry replied proudly. Then he rolled his eyes and added, “But the next day a couple of girls in my class who saw you come back to pick me up were asking if you were my mom's 'hot' boyfriend or my stepfather...I think they forgot all about my speech.”

“Really!?” Emma cried with sarcastically exaggerated annoyance at the exact same time that Killian choked slightly on a bite of bread.

Killian took a sip of water and coughed, then quipped, “Well, I'm sorry to have been a distraction, but I can't help being devilishly handsome.”

Emma rolled her eyes, and Henry laughed.

“What's a stepfather?” Hope asked, her brow creased in confusion.

Shit, Emma thought. She wasn't mentally prepared to have the conversation get heavy. She and Killian had texted earlier about possibly sitting down with Hope after dinner to talk about how Killian was just their friend and not her father. They were going to see how tired and attentive she was after they ate and put it off until later if she seemed exhausted or cranky.

Henry shot Emma a guilty look, knowing he'd accidentally steered the conversation into the danger zone, but Emma just shrugged and answered Hope. “Well, like, if a mom had a child but then married a man who wasn't the child's dad, that new man would be the stepfather.”

Hope still looked confused, so Emma gave an example. “Like, Henry's daddy was a man named Neal, but Neal is not around anymore, so if I married another man he would be Henry's stepfather.”

“Ohhhhh,” Hope said, “I get it. So if you marry Killian, he'd be Henry's stepfather.”

Emma felt her face get hot with embarrassment but still managed to answer. “Well, yeah, but I'm not-”

“But he'd still be _my_ daddy,” Hope finished, matter-of-factly.

Emma sighed and put her fork down. She reached out to her little girl and took her hand. She glanced quickly at Killian and saw that he was watching her with admiration and a little embarrassment. He was quiet though, letting her take the lead.

“Sweetheart,” Emma said. “Killian is our friend. He is really nice and funny, and we are very, very lucky that he moved in across the hall, but he is just a friend, not your daddy. Your daddy was a man named Frank, and he is not around anymore, just like Henry's daddy.”

“Ooooooh, I get it,” Hope said, doubt still in her voice. “Just in my dreams Killian's my daddy.”

“Okay,” Emma replied slowly. Was it okay? She wished she'd met with the child psychologist before having this conversation. Ultimately, she improvised; she was good at that. “Sometimes in our dreams, things can be different from the way they are in our real lives, and that's fine!”

“Right, like sometimes in my dreams I see scary things, but Daddy is there to protect me.”

Emma winced; she wasn't sure she was getting through. Maybe it was best to just change the subject. She glanced at Killian, trying to signal him that he was free to jump in and help if he thought he could.

“That's good, love,” he said kindly to Hope. “And it's true that you have a lot of people around to protect you, both in real life and your dreams.”

Hope seemed to accept this, and she quietly nodded before picking up her milk and taking a sip.

Emma took the opportunity to change the subject. “Hope, Killian, what were you two drawing with the markers before dinner?”

Hope perked up immediately and replied, “It was Killian on his pirate ( _pie-wet_ ) ship!”

“Oh, it's a pirate ship now?” Emma asked sardonically, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Well, apparently it's a bit more entertaining for the young lass to imagine I spend my workday on a pirate ship rather than teaching tourists about Revolutionary War history. I'm inclined to agree with her.”

They all chuckled at that, and the mood at the table became more relaxed again. When Hope was full (it never took long), Emma let her go over to the living room to get her drawing so that she could show Emma and Henry.

She returned with a piece of light blue paper on which she'd drawn a fairly ship-like shape in brown marker. Standing on top of the ship was a stick figure man with black arms and legs and a red torso. His head was disproportionately large so that Hope had room to draw the dark beard she had given him. Also disproportionately large compared to the real thing was the hook that adorned the end of his left arm. She had used a gray marker for that attachment, and it was quite large and much more fierce looking than Killian's usual prosthetic.

“My goodness,” Emma remarked. “He IS a pirate.”

“Yup!” Hope agreed.

After the impromptu art show, Emma, Henry, and Killian cleared the table, and Henry offered to give Hope her bath so that Emma and Killian could clean up from dinner. Hope agreed to this plan only after eliciting a promise from Killian that he would read her a story before bed.

When the kids were gone, Emma and Killian set about cleaning up the small kitchen. They worked well together, despite the small space, and Emma didn't mind the forced close proximity to him. In fact, after their embrace the previous night, she had to admit that she'd been nervously looking forward to any chance she might have to be alone with him this evening. Every accidental arm brush or hip bump gave her a little thrill that made kitchen clean up a MUCH more enjoyable experience than it usually was.

As they finished up, Killian nodded to indicate something on the back corner of the counter. “Lady Hope's butterfly jar was a casualty the other night night, I see.”

Emma sighed and looked at the broken jar. The plastic was still detached from the base, and the little stick on which the butterfly rested had come loose. “Yep. I'm not too worried about it. I would throw it out, but with my luck, as soon as I did Mrs. X would stop by for a visit and want to see it.” She rolled her eyes.

Killian laughed. “I might have some super glue across the hall if you want me to fix it?”

“No, it's fine. I'll get to it at some point. Hope seems to have forgotten about it for the moment.”

They settled on the couch to continue chatting. Emma still marveled at how easily this man made her laugh. The cynical part of her brain continued to feel like she should be rolling her eyes at Killian's accent and gentlemanly language. It was cheesy, right? Who talked like that? But everything about him was so genuine, she couldn't help but just relax and enjoy his stories and his jokes.

Henry and Hope joined them in a little while. Hope was clean and clad in her blue and pink Elsa and Anna pajamas. The little girl strode into the living room carrying another favorite Elephant and Piggie book. She climbed into Killian's lap and he began to read, repeating the charming character voices he had done the last time he'd read to her.

Emma and Henry settled in with their phones, with Emma checking and responding to work emails.

And it was all beautifully, perfectly normal.

 

  
On Thursday at work, Killian finished a re-enactment for a particularly rowdy group of middle-schoolers and returned to the museum building to check his phone. He had received a text from Emma saying that she needed to go to a work dinner this evening at seven, but that Henry had an activity at school that might run past that. She wanted to know whether he could could come over after work to stay with Hope until Henry got back.

He hurriedly texted back that of course he could, and then felt light as a feather the rest of the day because she trusted him this much, and because he was getting to see them again tonight.

Hope's nightmares continued to be a cloud over all of them, but according to another text from Emma, she had been fine the night before and now had slept peacefully for the last two nights in a row.

He hadn't felt the need to tell Emma about his own dream. He had reasoned that his dream of being pushed over a cliff while protecting Hope had been just a coincidence, borne of his new relationship with the child. Obviously he cared for her, and she was going through a rough patch, so he was worried about her and feeling protective, like a father would. Plus, fears of falling were a common subject of nightmares. Mentioning the dream to Emma when it seemed like they might be able to start moving past it just seemed unnecessary.  
  
He finished up his workday with an inspection of the ship, making sure all the tour equipment was put away and that the sails were properly tied down. He jogged to the T to make sure he got home in plenty of time for his babysitting gig.

When Emma answered his knock at 6:50, she was already dressed to leave, wearing a tied black trench coat that covered her outfit. The coat fell to a few inches above her knee, and her legs and feet were bare. She had done her hair, which fell loose down her back in big blonde curls, and she was wearing much more makeup than normal.

She was an absolute knockout, and when she opened the door, he was speechless.

“Um, hiiiii?” she said helpfully, smirking at the fact that he was obviously stunned.

He cleared his throat and replied, “Uh, hello. You look...”

“I know,” she quipped, then turned to help Hope with something at the table.

The little girl had obviously been finishing her dinner, and she was already dressed in her pajamas.

“Hi Killian!” she called.

“Hello, lass,” he replied cheerfully, trying to resist sneaking another look at Emma. Something was bothering him. “What was for dinner, love?”

“Um, chicken nuggets,” Hope answered thoughtfully, studying the remnants on her plate as if she had already forgotten what she'd been eating. “And grapes.” That came out 'gwapes' of course, and Killian marveled once again at how funny and charming he found this child's every word and gesture.

“Ah, we can't forget the grapes!” he agreed, sitting down next to her at the table.

Emma continued to flit around the apartment packing up her purse and stepping into extremely high black heels.

Killian's unease deepened until he finally figured it out the cause, barely resisting giving himself a slap on the forehead over what an idiot he was.

“Okay,” Emma said, coming over to Hope and kissing her forehead. “She's had her bath, she's obviously been fed...she just will need help brushing her teeth, and I usually have her down around eight. Henry might even be back by then, so he can take care of bedtime if that's easier.”

“No I want Killian to read to me!” Hope cried.

“Of course, love, I'll read as many books as you'd like,” he told her dotingly.

“Ha! It's your funeral,” Emma snorted.

Emma went to the door to leave, and after winking at Hope who was sipping the last of her milk, Killian followed her to say goodbye.

“So I'll just be down by Park Street at a restaurant, but my phone will be on.”

“Swan,” he started, needing to know for sure. “May I ask? This work dinner...are you going on a _date_?”

Emma rolled her eyes and pulled him closer to the door, out of Hope's earshot. “A _fake_ date,” she whispered impatiently. “Sometimes the easiest way to get to these guys is with a phony Tinder profile. I should have this asshole in custody by 8:30.”

Killian didn't want to be an overprotective jerk, but he couldn't help the way his stomach twisted with worry, and he knew that he was furrowing his brow as he looked down, unable to meet her eyes.

Emma's tone was kind as she patted his arm. “Killian, don't worry. It's fine. I've been doing this for years.” She paused for a moment then added, “And I promise, my next _real_ date is still going to be with you.”

At that he looked up and met her eyes, and he couldn't help his goofy smile as he saw the saucy smirk on her face, which was tempered with an underlying sweet shyness in her eyes.

“That's a deal then!” he replied.

Emma smiled more broadly, stole another glance at Hope, squeezed his arm once more, and left.

The rest of his and Hope's evening was wonderful, even if he did keep glancing at his phone awaiting updates from Emma. After dinner, he gently cleaned the ketchup and grape juice off of Hope's face and served her a tiny scoop of vanilla ice cream. She was happy enough about the ice cream, but she also kept mentioning how she had decided that she loved cookies and cream more than vanilla.

“I really like cookies and cream now that's my favorite ( _flavo-wit_ )” she repeated several times. Killian assured her that children who reached the wise old age of three-and-a-half were entitled to this more refined palate for ice cream flavors. Of course, this didn't stop Hope from finishing the vanilla in a matter of a couple minutes, going so far as to pick up the small plastic bowl and try to drink the melted residue from the bottom. After he cleaned her face from that mess, she bounced out of her chair and announced that she was ready for a sword fighting lesson.

Killian knew that adding play-fighting to sugar was probably a bad combination before bed, so he compromised by asking if she had any _books_ about pirates. After a quick stop at the bathroom to brush her teeth, she led him into her room where they found a large, colorful adaptation of the Disney Peter Pan film, and they settled in to read it on her small bed. Hope was still wound up from the excitement of having Killian there to babysit, and it was all he could do to keep her from jumping off the bed in pretend flight just as Wendy, John, and Michael flew in the story.

However, as the book progressed, she returned to her spot next to him and snuggled into his side as he read. Killian had his right arm around the girl and his left awkwardly supporting the large book, so he had no way to turn the pages. Without him having to ask, Hope seemed to notice this dilemma and dutifully turned the pages for them each time he nodded to her that he was done. They made a great team and easily fell into a rhythm.

However, when they got to the point in the story when Pan's first confronts Captain Hook, a strange look crossed Hope's face and she said, “I don't think I want to read this anymore.”

“OK, love. Is it getting too scary?”

“Nah, I just don't think I like Peter Pan. I thought he was nice, but he's not.”

Killian studied her, confused at why she would suddenly be bothered by a character in a story she knew, but he decided not to push. In the end she settled on another book, the Boston-set classic Make Way for Ducklings. When Killian got to the end of it, Hope was yawning heavily, and Killian moved off the bed so that he could properly tuck her in.

“Goodnight, little lass,” he said, gently pushing her hair away from her face as she snuggled into her pillow and covers. “Sweet dreams.”

“Yeah, sweet dweams,” she replied sleepily. “But if not it's okay because you'll be there to pwo-tect me.”

“Aye, love, that I will.”

  
Henry had texted Killian that he'd be home around nine from his event at school (it was a meeting for the staff of the school's literary magazine) and he was true to his word. They chatted cordially when he arrived; about school, about Hope, and a little about Emma's unusual job. Henry had some work to do on his laptop at the dining table before bed, and Killian asked if he'd mind if he stayed there until Emma got home.

“You mean like, in case Hope has another nightmare?”

“Aye. I wouldn't want you to have to deal with that on your own.”

“Makes sense. Thanks.” Henry paused thoughtfully then added, “You and my mom haven't had the talk with her yet, have you? About how you're not really her dad?”

Killian winced. “We have not, I'm afraid. However, I'm not sure that she really does believe what she says about me sometimes. It might just be a product of her confused mind when she awakens from one of those bloody dreams.”

“Mmm,” Henry replied thoughtfully, and Killian got the sense that he wasn't convinced. However, he let it drop. Killian ran across the hall to his place to get the novel he'd been reading and settled on Emma's couch when he returned.

Henry went to bed at 10:30, and Killian received a strange text from Emma shortly thereafter.

_E: Hey, do you have frozen peas at your place?_

_K: No, I don't believe so, why?_

_E: Shit. You're not still at my place are you?_

_K: I am_

_E: OK, can you check freezer? I can't remember and might have to stop at store_

Killian jumped off the couch and opened the freezer to find that she did indeed have a bag of frozen peas.

_K: You have a bag of peas._

_E: OK good. Just got to my car. Be home in 20._

_K: Is everything ok?_

_E: Eh. This guy was some MMA cocksucker. Clocked me in the eye. Motherfucker._

_E: Sorry. I'm pissed._

Killian was shocked. He'd been worried about her of course, but he hadn't actually expected her to be injured. Suddenly, he wanted very badly to find her Tinder date skip and and beat his face into a bloody pulp. Instead, he took a breath and replied.

_K: Understandable. See you soon. Please drive safely. The kids are fine, and the peas and I will be here waiting for you._

_E: OK_

There was a slight pause, and then she sent another message with just a single pink heart emoji, and Killian's own heart skipped a beat at the sight of it.

Emma walked through the door 25 minutes later, and Killian jumped off the couch to greet her and assess her injuries. She was still wearing her black trench, but now it was hanging open to reveal a very form fitting red dress with a plunging v neck. The curls in her hair had mostly relaxed, and there were some wild tendrils around her face. Her lipstick had rubbed away, but the rest of her makeup was pretty well in tact. All in all, she still looked achingly beautiful except for the half-dollar sized purplish welt that had appeared on the cheekbone below her right eye.

She rolled her eyes at what must have been his stricken expression. “I know, I know,” she said. “But you should see the other guy!” She stepped out of her heels and shrugged out of the trench, throwing it over the back of a chair. She went into the kitchen, grabbed the peas from the freezer, and with a sigh of relief, sat down at one of the dining chairs to apply the frozen bag to her injury.

“How were the kids?” she asked, as if she hadn't been in a fight tonight and everything was completely normal. “Henry texted me that he got home around nine. Did Hope really go to bed for you okay?”

“Yeah, they were great. Really wonderful,” he said sincerely, sitting down at the dining chair next to her and craning his neck so that he could get a look at her eye.

She pulled the peas away and stuck her cheek towards him. “It's fine, here, look. This asshole had skipped out on the bail his wife posted for him and was out looking to get laid. I can't freaking believe how often that happens. I had a bio on him, but it failed to mention that he'd recently taken up MMA. He bolted from the restaurant bar when I told him who I really was, but I caught up to him outside and told him his car was already being towed. He whirled on me and started punching. I dodged the first one, but he caught me with a left. Luckily, I already had my taser in my hand, so he paid for it with a shock to the gut. Started crying like a baby.” Emma smirked to herself as she finished.

Killian had pretty much been in awe of this woman since he met her, but listening to her describe her altercation with this scumbag pretty much cinched it for him that she was the most amazing person he'd ever met. He smiled at her.

“Well, it sounds to me like Emma Swan always gets her man.”

“She does,” she replied, cocking her eyebrow flirtatiously and then wincing at the pain that caused the rest of her face. Killian winced in sympathy and then gently took the bag of peas from her and applied it to her bruise so that she could rest her arm.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

As he iced her bruise, he filled in a few more details about his evening with the kids, and then they fell into a companionable silence.

He had scooted a little closer to her to apply the frozen peas, and as she relaxed, she stretched her legs out a little so that they rested between his, and the outside of her calf grazed the inside of his as she moved. Even through his jeans, the touch of her bare leg was electric, and suddenly he was acutely aware of what she was wearing; the tightness of her dress and the way the sides of its deep v-neck cut across her shapely breasts.

He realized that he was going to need to create some distance between them before he embarrassed himself and needed a bag of frozen peas for his lap.

He removed the bag from her face as gently as he could and inspected the injury. It was still discolored, but less swollen. He backed up his chair a little, and she straightened in hers, her tired state of relaxation broken by his movements.

“I think the swelling has gone down quite a bit,” he said hoarsely.

She gently tapped at the injury with her fingers and nodded. “Yep, feels okay. Hopefully I can cover it with concealer in the morning. I always hate to have the kids see any bumps or bruises I get at work.”

He gazed at her, marveling once again how she could be both a warrior out in battle each day and this soft, funny woman he knew her to be at home around her children.

His heart was full for her, and he was torn between a very real desire to simply declare his undying devotion and the knowledge that he needed to give her time and space lest she raise her walls again.

He stood a little awkwardly and said, “I should let you get to bed. I imagine it's been a long evening.”

There was a little confusion in her eyes at his sudden move to depart, and he felt bad about that. Her smile was genuine and grateful though. “Yeah, I want to check on the kids and get some sleep.”

She walked him to the door and yawned as he turned to say goodnight.

“I hope you don't have to rise too early tomorrow,” he said.

“Actually, I can sleep in as long as Hope lets me. Max said to take the whole day off since I had a crappy night tonight. Henry's going to school, but I'm going to keep Hope home. We have that appointment at three...”

Killian nodded, remembering that she had scheduled an introductory appointment with a child psychologist.

“But I might take her out to do something fun in the morning. Maybe you could join us, if you're around?”

“Ah, that's great! I'm off tomorrow too,” he replied, with probably a little too much excitement. “A big school trip cancelled, so they're expecting a slower day and didn't need the whole crew.” He felt himself blushing, knowing how excited he sounded to be invited to Emma's outing with her daughter.

“Well, you should come with us, then!” Her smile and enthusiasm seemed genuine.

“I wouldn't want to intrude on your time with Lady Hope,” he replied.

“Oh please. She'd be over the moon to get to spend more time with you.” She paused and took his hand a little tentatively. “I'd like it too. You should come. If you want to.” She finished the words with a shy shrug, and he was finally convinced.

“Well then I'd be honored.”

“Perfect, I'll text you in the morning and we can figure out a plan.” She squeezed his hand again. “Goodnight Killian.”

“Goodnight Swan,” he replied. But she didn't release his hand, so he made no move to go.

After a moment, she stood on her tiptoes and lightly brushed his cheek with her lips.

Suddenly, images flashed in his head. It was similar to the feeling of deja vu he'd felt on the day he'd first met Emma and her family. The images were brief, just glimpses, but he recognized Emma in each one, leaning up or standing on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. The surroundings were unfamiliar. A street in a town that was not Boston. A kitchen he didn't recognize.

Then, the instant she pulled away, the images were gone. She stood before him and looked up at him with a confused expression then seemed to shake herself and just smiled.

He did his best to compose himself, nodded a final goodnight, and left.

 

  
The next morning, Emma packed a cooler with sandwiches, fruit, and drinks and drove herself, Hope, and Killian over to Jamaica pond. September was waning, and Fall was starting to make its presence known in New England. They were all dressed in jeans, light sweaters and jackets, and on Hope, Emma had put a knit pink beanie that only slightly covered her soft blonde curls.

They left the cooler in the car at first, only grabbing a nearly empty bag of bread they had brought before walking down to the path by the pond. Hope walked between them, holding hands and insisting that they swing her between them every few steps.

When they arrived at the waterside, Hope was delighted to see that there were some ducks swimming close to shore, and Emma hurriedly helped her pull out a piece of bread so that she could tear it up and feed them. The little girl made a point of meticulously breaking the bread into equal sized pieces “so that it was fair,” she said. When she stepped to the edge, Killian leaned down and placed his hand on her left shoulder to keep her safe as she threw each piece into the water with gusto. Hope squealed with delight as the ducks hurriedly swam over to get their meal.

When the bread was gone, they strolled around the pond some more, and Hope was delighted with every new bird they saw. They pushed her on the swings at a nearby playground, and when it was lunchtime Killian went back to the car to get their cooler of food.

They ate an early lunch on a bench back by the pond, Hope constantly giggling at a corny jokes that Killian made. Emma couldn't help but reflect as she watched them that this was how it was _supposed_ to be. This was how a real man acted with a sweet, innocent child that adored him. How could it be true that Hope's real father was off living it up in New York and had never even _seen_ her? How was Emma going to explain that to her daughter one day, maybe even one day soon if that's what the psychologist suggested?

Emma was not a religious person nor even a particularly optimistic one. However, that morning as she watched Killian dote on Hope like she was the single most important person in the world, she wondered if maybe the universe had realized that it owed one to Emma Swan and was finally paying up.  
  
Hope dozed off in the car on the way home, and Emma and Killian chatted easily until the subject of Hope's afternoon appointment came up. Emma was nervous about it, and she wanted to share her feelings with him, but she didn't want to bring up any of his guilt at being the cause of Hope's issues.

“It's just an introductory appointment,” Emma explained to him. “She meets with me alone, and then spends a few minutes with the two of us together. She might have Hope draw pictures or something I guess, anything that gets her to express what's going on.

“Aye, I see,” he said quietly, looking down.

“Killian, listen,” she said firmly, looking at him since they were stopped at a red light. “Whatever is going on with her and these dreams is probably related to a whole host of things, but it's not you. My main concern is finding out what kind of stress could have been causing them. I'm glad you're in our lives. I know it's a good thing, no matter what.”

He finally looked over at her and she held his gaze firmly until he nodded back, taking so long that the car behind them started to honk because the light had changed.

When they got back to their building, Killian carried a sleepy Hope back upstairs. Emma watched and listened as he sang softly to the sleepy little girl on their way up to the third floor:

 _No, there's nothin' you can send me, my own true love_  
_There's nothin' I'm wishin' to be ownin'_  
_Just a-carry yourself back to me unspoiled_  
_From across that lonesome ocean_

Emma opened the front door quietly when they reached the top, and Killian gently carried Hope to the couch. “We're home, little lass. Time to wake all the way up,” he urged gently as she rubbed her eyes.

“We're home?” she mumbled.

“Yes, love. Mom wants you to wash up in the bathroom.”

“Okay, Daddy. Will you carry me?”

Killian looked up at Emma guiltily before replying, and Emma could only shrug. They were going to deal with it. It was going to be okay.

Hope threw her arms around his neck as he picked her up, and she nuzzled her face into his neck. Emma caught Killian closing his eyes for a moment. He looked reverent and overwhelmed by emotion. This had to be confusing and scary for him too.

He carried Hope to the bathroom and helped her wash her hands, and then Emma came back to tell her that they had to change clothes for their appointment. Killian took his leave then, happily accepting a warm goodbye hug from Hope and a promise from Emma that she'd talk to him tonight about how the appointment went.

 

  
As it turned out, it went fine. Dr. Li was young and thoughtful and kind, and she easily developed a rapport with both Emma and Hope. At the beginning of the meeting, Dr. Li introduced herself to Hope. She sat down so that she was eye level with the little girl and spoke to her sweetly but not condescendingly. Dr. Li showed Hope some of the toys in the room, and then pointed her to a child sized table full of paper and crayons. Dr. Li's assistant stayed in the room with Hope as she colored, and Emma followed Dr. Li into her office.

Once there, Emma gave Dr. Li the full history of Hope's nightmares: the nights when she woke screaming, he refusal to nap at school, and finally her fear for Killian and periodic references to him as her father.

Dr. Li acknowledged that the severity of Hope's nightmares was unusual and that she would spend some time over the course of their sessions trying to find out more about the content of the dreams. She also seemed comfortingly nonplussed about Hope having called Killian “Daddy” on a few occasions.

“It's a tough balance,” she told Emma sympathetically. “You don't want to confuse or mislead a child. However, it's not necessarily a bad thing that she feels like she found someone to fill a role for her.” She paused then asked delicately, “Is Killian someone that you feel you might continue a relationship with, so that he might be in your lives for a while?”

Emma blushed but admitted, “Yeah, I think he and I both would want that. Even though we technically haven't even been on a date yet.”

Dr. Li smiled kindly, “Then I think you should address it with Hope gently and subtly. Make sure she hears you and Henry refer to Killian as a friend or your neighbor as often as you can. Remind her of the day that you met him. Don't feel like you have to have a big talk about who he is to her, because chances are, if she feels confronted, she'll just dig in and hold more stubbornly to her fantasy.”

Emma nodded with relief. That all made sense to her. They could do that.

After a while, Dr. Li and Emma both returned to the room where Hope had been waiting. Dr. Li sat down next to the little girl and spent some time talking to her about her drawings. The doctor had explained to Emma that, in future sessions, she might expressly try to get Hope to draw her nightmares in order to spur a discussion about them. For now, though, she hadn't given her any instructions since they were just trying to get her comfortable in the office and with Dr. Li.

“Wow, Hope, this is really beautiful,” Dr. Li praised as she picked up the drawing Hope had been working on when they got there. “Is this your house?”

From her chair next to Dr. Li, Emma curiously craned her neck so that she could see the drawing. It looked like a grey house with some stick figure people standing out front. In the background of the house, Hope had drawn blue waves to indicate the ocean or a lake.

“I don't knooooowww,” Hope replied thoughtfully to Dr. Li, who looked questioningly at Emma.

“We live in an apartment building,” Emma clarified.

“Ah. Is this somewhere that you used to live?” Dr. Li asked Hope.

“Maybe. I'm not sure,” Hope replied. “I think it's just our house.”

Emma was confused. Dr. Li tried a different tack. “Who did you draw in the picture?” she said.

Hope pointed to the figures and replied, “That's me, Henry, my mom, and Killian. He's my daddy...sometimes.”

Emma's gut twisted. The doctor had eased her mind before, but Emma hated to think that her little girl was this confused.

“And when is he your daddy, Hope?”

“Um, when we live in this house. And when the mean lady comes for me. He's there to protect me.”

Dr. Li gave Emma a reassuring smile. She seemed to be pleased that they were getting this much out of Hope this soon.

“Does the mean lady come for you at night, in your dreams?” Dr. Li continued.

“Yeah, but I think it's real though. I don't know.” She sighed and dropped her shoulders, clearly getting a little frustrated with the questioning.

“Okay. Thanks, Hope. Thanks for sharing this drawing with me. I'm going to see you again next week and maybe we can draw some more. Is that all right?”

“Sure,” Hope replied and stood to hold Emma's hand. She seemed to be ready to go home.

As they said their goodbyes to Dr. Li, Emma glanced down again at Hope's drawing. She had a better view this time, and she could clearly make out a white fence against the green yard, and some lines to indicate steps and a wide front porch. Suddenly, Emma could see the house in her mind. Not the drawing, but the real place, stately and beautiful and _home_. The vision was gone in a flash, and Emma shook herself back to normal before smiling once more at Dr. Li and leaving.

 

  
That night after Hope went to bed, Emma left her in Henry's care and went across the hall to fill in Killian on their session with the psychologist. She was wearing jeans and a thin sweater, certainly nothing fancy, so she was a little embarrassed to find that he was wearing a nice button-down shirt with his jeans and had put out a lovely spread of cheese, fruit and crackers in anticipation of her visit.

“I hope you don't mind,” he said, scratching behind his neck as she surveyed the food neatly arranged on his coffee table. “I thought we might have some snacks while we talked. I also have some wine...or beer if you prefer?”

“Wine would be great,” Emma replied, already looking forward to the opportunity to relax.

He went into the kitchen and began to open a bottle of red.

As he gracefully poured two glasses, she couldn't resist teasing him a little. “You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say this felt a little like a date.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh, it _is_.”

“Really?” she chided.

“Really. Come on, love, if we limited our dates to quiet dinners, we'd never even get one.”

She blushed a little at the truth of that.

He handed her the wine and they gently clinked their glasses in a toast before settling in on the couch.

She filled him in on the appointment, including a description of Hope's drawing. She withheld any mention of the flash of deja vu that she got when looking at Hope's interpretation of 'their' house, however.

“Emma,” Killian said seriously. “I am glad that the doctor felt that it was okay for me to still have a presence in your lives. But, if at any time, you or she feel that it's in Hope's best interest for me to step aside, I would do so in an instant.”

“I know you would, Killian. Believe me, if I thought it was better that way, I would ask you to. But I _know_ that it's not. We're going to figure this out together.”

He nodded, and she could see the emotion in his eyes. She placed her glass down on the coffee table and took his hand.

“Please,” she said. “None of this is your fault. And we're keeping you for as long as you'll have us.”

He chuckled at that and nodded. “Well thank you, kind lady. I must admit, I haven't had the chance to be around a family in a very long time. I think that I would quite miss yours if I had to leave you all alone.”

The haunted sadness she noticed when she first met him had returned to his blue eyes.

“Will you tell me about your family, Killian? Where they are or what happened to them?”

He nodded, releasing her hand briefly to take a sip of wine. When he brought his hand back to his lap, she took it again and he smiled.

“I have very little memory of my parents. My mother died when I was five, and shortly thereafter my father left my brother Liam and me with some cousins who were not thrilled about taking us in. They used us mostly for chores and to get extra dole money.”

“Oh Killian, I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay. I was lucky to have Liam. He was seven years older than me, and he was brave and strong no matter what life threw at him. When he was sixteen and I was nine, we moved in with the family of his girlfriend at the time. They were kind to us, and even after Liam joined the navy when he turned eighteen, they allowed me to stay with them instead of going to an orphanage.”

Emma nodded, tears in her eyes as she remembered spending her own childhood wishing that somebody had wanted her.

Killian smirked as he continued to reminisce. “Of course, I was an ungrateful little shit and without Liam there to guide me, I turned into a hellion. Drinking and stealing and getting into all kinds of trouble until Liam had to come home and beat some sense into me after my last arrest. In the end, I lied on some paperwork in order to join the navy early. I was deployed to my brother's ship, and I shaped up and became a passable sailor.”

He looked wistful and sad when he talked about his brother, and Emma braced herself for what she knew must be coming.

“I lost Liam during an exercise on the North Sea,” he said quietly. “It was storming and the waters were too rough. The conditions were awful, and I knew that our ship was too small to handle drills that day. The waves were as high I had ever seen them. We couldn't see shit. It was like the end of the world. Liam was stubborn, though, and he followed orders. I was livid and convinced a few of the men to join me below deck before the drill was over. When we heard the commotion up top, we returned to find all the men scrambling, looking into the sea for Liam, who'd been tossed over when a large wave hit. I looked and looked. Even tried to dive overboard myself before they restrained me.” He paused, obviously reliving the memory.

“Killian,” Emma said softly. She squeezed his hand, just reminding him that she was still there. That she was there for him.

He nodded, gathering himself. “After I lost him, I fell back into my deviant ways. I was an absolute disgrace as a sailor. My captain never knew it, but I was half drunk on the day I lost my hand. I was an idiot. Made a terrible decision and tried to catch a sliding piece of machinery when all my training should have told me to get out of the way. My hand was crushed. We were far enough out that I had to rely on the ship's infirmary for too long...when I finally got to hospital, the hand was infected and couldn't be saved. After that I was discharged with a small disability pension. And I've basically been bouncing around ever since. Wasting time. No real use to anyone.”

“I don't believe that, Killian,” Emma told him, looking him in the eyes.

He shook his head slightly and looked away, ashamed.

She hadn't meant for this to happen when she asked about his family. He was reliving too many nightmares. Somehow she innately understood just how deep his self loathing ran, and now he was letting it creep back up to the surface and take hold. She could see it in his expression; in the way his shoulders slumped. It broke her heart.

So she tried again. She put her glass back down and scooted up onto her knees so that she was eye level with him.

“Killian. Look at what you went through. You lost your parents. Your brother. You suffered a terrible injury after all of it. Anyone would have broken under the strain. But look at you now. You're a _good_ man. You prove it _every_ day.”

He searched her eyes. She could tell he wanted to believe her, but that doubt lingered.

“You didn't,” he said sadly.

“What?” she replied.

“You didn't break, Swan. After everything that you went through. Everyone who let you down. You didn't become selfish, angry, or reckless. Instead, you became...” he couldn't finish. Instead he nodded at her with his chin as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What? You think because I held it together and got a decent job that I'm somehow better than you? I had to get through it. I had no choice, because of Henry and then Hope. I'm not a hero for that.”

“Ah, but you are, Swan. When I look at you, that's what I see.”

She blinked back the tears that were threatening. She hadn't meant for this to get so emotional. “Okay,” she said finally. “So I'm a hero then. But so are you.”

He scoffed.

“What? You are,” she challenged. She considered him for a moment. “Why are you here right now?”

“What?”

“Why are you here with me right now on this couch? Are you just trying to get me into bed? Is this a ploy? Are you just another douchebag who pretends to be a nice guy so that he can fuck a 'challenging' woman and then move on?”

“Emma...” he warned.

“What? I deserve to know.”

He rolled his eyes in frustration. “Of course not.”

“Good. Because I know that's not you. I know that we're sitting here because you were concerned about my daughter, and that means something to me. More than you could ever know. I detect bullshit for a living, Killian, and there is no bullshit anywhere in the way you look out for that scared little girl, and for me and Henry. So please, please, accept that you are a good man, and that other people need you. Believe it. You deserve it.”

“All right,” he conceded, rolling his eyes up to look at the ceiling and then looking down to meet hers again. He smiled a little. “Fine. I believe it. Are you quite finished?”

She wasn't. Before she could think too hard about what she was doing, she leaned forward, took his face in her hands and kissed him. Hard.

She felt his surprise for just an instant, but then he was kissing her back and wrapping his right arm around her waist to pull her closer. She smiled against him, enjoying the urgency of his response and the easy way their mouths fit together. Despite her impulsive move, there was no awkwardness or clumsiness to the kiss. They were naturals at this. After a moment, though, he pulled back and looked into her eyes, seemingly seeking confirmation that it was okay to continue. She met his eyes, nodded, and moved in for more.

Then he gently took control, opening her mouth with his tongue and sliding it against hers in a dance that slowly became sinful. She heard herself make a low sound in the back of her throat and he responded in kind. She dragged one hand down the front of his shirt, fingers brushing the dark hair peeking out of the open top buttons. She suddenly wanted to touch him everywhere...

Then, in an instant. She was somewhere else. Or rather, she was in a lot of places. With him. Her mind flashed with images, each one brief but vivid and each one more erotic than the last.

_She was gripping the lapels of his leather coat and kissing the holy hell out of him in what looked like a jungle._

_They were at a table in an outdoor cafe, in the dark, kissing slowly and languidly like they had all the time in the world._

_They were on a couch in an unfamiliar house. He was seated and she was straddling his lap, grinding down on him, seeking delicious friction as he trailed kisses down her neck and collarbone and pulled down the front of her camisole so that he could palm her breast._

_She was in an unfamiliar kitchen backed up against the counter. Her black robe was thrown open and she was naked underneath. One of her arms was bent, her elbow bracing her against the counter as she leaned back. Her other hand was in Killian's dark hair as he knelt on the floor in front of her, his head between her spread legs, making her hips buck in ecstasy with that incredible mouth._

She broke the kiss, pulling away with a suddenness that shocked Killian. She was panting, and her body felt like it was on fire. Every nerve was electrified. She glanced at Killian as she tried to gather herself. He looked as wrecked as she felt.

The throbbing ache between her legs was compelling her to climb astride him, to take what she needed. Somehow she knew beyond any doubt that he could make her feel the way that nobody else ever had. That he would have her spread before him and crying out with a kind of pleasure she'd never felt before. It wasn't just because of the intensity of the kiss, or the attraction that had been building between them for weeks. She knew it to be true, with as much certainty as she'd ever known anything.

_How she'd missed this. Missed him._

That unbidden thought pulled her out of her reverie. She jumped up awkwardly and stood.

“I'm sorry,” he said, looking up at her with guilt and confusion in his eyes.

She cast her eyes to the side. She knew her face was flushed, and she was suddenly aware of a lump in her throat and the sting of guilty tears in her eyes.  
  
“No, I'm sorry!” she replied miserably. Her shoulders were tense, and she needed to ball her hands into fists in order to steel herself so that she could meet his eyes.

If she felt confused and guilty, he looked positively devastated. Not only were his pupils still dilated with desire, but he was visibly struggling to control his breathing. Worse (to her) every line on his forehead was a deep crease of worry. Clearly he felt he had pushed her too far.

“I came on too strong,” he said, his voice barely more than an agonized whisper.

“No, I am sorry,” she repeated, meeting his eyes firmly, needing him to understand. “I just, kind of lost control there for a second. I don't lose control like that, not ever. It caught me off guard, and I just can't. I have too much...”

The creases in his forehead lessened a bit, but his eyes were still confused and sad.

She sat back down on the couch, making sure to leave a good foot and half of space between them. “Really,” she continued after a beat herself. “I like you. I wanted this. Hell, I started it. This feels right in a way I can't really explain. I just...I don't get to lose control. It's not me. I'm sorry.”

She forced herself to hold eye contact, willing him to understand and to not hate her. Even if she herself didn't totally understand what had just happened.

She let herself feel a little relieved as his gaze softened, and he nodded slightly.

“I understand. It was too much, too fast. It's okay,” he said with a small, slightly sad smile.

She nodded back and forced herself to smile. “I should go. Henry's probably waiting up.”

“Of course.”

She rose and walked towards the door and he followed to see her out.

“Emma,” he said quietly.

She turned back to him, her hand already on the doorknob.

“However you want to do this, at whatever pace, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. And if you do decide you want or need to lose control, I just want you to know, your heart will be safe with me.”

She stared at him for a beat. The sincerity that was always in his eyes shown through stronger than she had ever seen it. She was overwhelmed and could only nod again before the emotion welling up in her threatened to break free.

She hurried back to her own apartment and rushed through a nighttime routine. Her head was spinning, and she was dabbing at her eyes as she checked on the kids. She sat for a moment at Hope's bedside, making sure her daughter was sleeping peacefully.

She laid down in her bed knowing that sleep would be a long time in coming. Her body still hummed with desire, and her heart was racing. Her mind was racing too. She kept trying to understand or explain away the feelings, the images she'd had when she'd kissed Killian. Had she subconsciously been having all these fantasies about him and they all just bubbled to the surface tonight? Why had she made up all the places she seen in the flashes, places she'd never seen before?

She wanted so badly to continue believing that Killian was a gift to her and her kids; some kind of karmic payback from the universe for all the cruelty it had thrown at her over her 35 years. He was good to them. She cared about him. She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anybody. And she believed him when he said that he would protect her heart.

But as she laid there, wanting so badly to hope for the best, she felt nagging fear and blooming certainty that something was off. There were just too many strange trends and coincidences; with Killian, with Hope and her nightmares, with all of them. She laid awake into the small hours, waiting for her daughter to wake up screaming. But once again, Hope slept in peace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Killian sings to Hope while carrying her upstairs is "Boots of Spanish Leather" by Bob Dylan. I adore those lines. 
> 
> Apologies, but summer vacation beckons, so the next update won't be for another three to four weeks. Think of it as a brief hiatus and then I'll be back to more frequent updates.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, double line breaks indicate POV changes. Just making a note of that, because there are a lot of them in this chapter. : )

If she was being honest, Emma was a little relieved that Killian had to work that Saturday, and she felt guilty about that. She still believed in her resolution that they were better off _with_ Killian in their lives, but after what happened last night, she felt like a little space was okay.

She spent the day with Henry and Hope, running errands and going for a walk so that Hope could collect the yellow and brown leaves that had just started falling from the trees. She thought about Killian a lot though. The softness of his lips. The way his arm had tightened around her waist after she kissed him. The way he'd angled his head just right so that he could capture her mouth. The way he'd pulled back and looked into her eyes for confirmation before deepening the kiss.

The way he'd said that her heart would be safe with him.

She believed him; believed _in_ him. Emma Swan didn't do believing in people, not anymore, but he had dug his way into her heart in a matter of weeks. Of course that was going to be scary for her.

She was thirty-five years old, and she knew herself well enough to know her own habits and tendencies. She knew that it would be _just like her_ to run away from the intensity of her response to him. To throw up those walls and protect herself and her kids just like she had always done.

But she didn't want to do that. This time, she knew that was the wrong choice. She just...needed a day or two to think.

Hope asked about him throughout the day, of course. She wondered if he would be coming over for dinner again or if he could read to her at bedtime. Emma tried to ignore Henry's raised eyebrow when she explained to the little girl that Killian would be tired after work and wouldn't be coming by. Hope's face had fallen at that, and Emma felt all kinds of shitty and guilty.

She did text him, just to let him know that Hope had been nightmare-free once again. He'd texted back right away expressing how happy he was. He didn't ask for anything else though. Didn't assume he would see them today. He seemed to understand, in the way he always seemed to intuitively understand her, that she needed space. Of course, she felt guilty about that too.

Saturday night passed quietly. Miraculously, Hope experienced yet another peaceful night, and Emma started to let herself believe that her little girl had moved past this horrific phase.

Sunday was similarly relaxing and uneventful. The bump on Emma's face that resulted from her 'date' with the skip was barely noticeable now, and she smiled slightly when she touched it, remembering how sweetly Killian had tended to her with the bag of frozen peas. When she realized that her fears of the visions she'd experienced when kissing Killian had also started to fade, she was content to let them do so.

In the past, she would have talked herself into believing that she should stay on guard and hold onto her worries. But her gut instincts were shouting at her to trust Killian and that it was _okay_ to be happy about her strong feelings for him.

So when Hope asked if they could see him that evening, she agreed that she would ask. She texted him in the afternoon, considering her words carefully and making sure she sounded as warm and friendly as possible. Then she awaited his reply.

 

As it turned out, Killian's boss at the museum asked him to work Sunday as well, and he'd agreed. He had no other plans and was grateful not only for the extra cash, but for the opportunity to get his mind off of Emma.

He was trying to believe her words from Friday night, that he had done nothing wrong, and that she was just afraid of losing control of herself. He knew that she had a lot at stake; more responsibility and more to lose than he did (although given that he was pretty certain he'd already lost his heart to her and her family, perhaps that last part wasn't entirely true.)

He did like his job, though, and the weekend crowds of tourists were fun and enthusiastic. Plus, he enjoyed the cool fall breeze coming in across the harbor. It invigorated and energized him. He also liked to think that all the personal frustration and nervous energy that he was channeling into his British officer gave the character a bit of an extra edge this weekend.

Of course, as much as he tried to throw himself into his work and his performance, it was only for moments at a time that he was able to push Emma and the kids to the back of his mind. Any child under the age of five made him think of Hope. Of how bright her eyes were. Of the brilliance of her questions and observations despite her young mind. Of how it felt when she clung to him, some magical alchemy of affection between them causing her to believe in him and need him like she would a parent. (But no, he couldn't let his mind go there, not yet.)

The teenagers reminded him of Henry, but none of them could match that boy's quiet strength and intelligence. Killian tried to imagine any of them enduring what Henry had been through in his young life and still becoming the responsible, steadfast young man that he was for his mother.

 _Henry's mother_.

When he wasn't thinking about the kids, of course he thought of Emma.

When he closed his eyes, he could see the desperate intensity on her face Friday night as she placed her hands on his cheeks and willed him not to think the worst of himself. He imagined that he could smell the clean and flowery smell of her hair as she leaned closer to him. He could still feel the press of her lips, the slide of her tongue. He could hear the sound she made when he'd deepened their kiss. It had all been intoxicating, and more wonderful than he'd even dreamed it would be since he'd met her and started daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss her.

But something had happened to both of them during that kiss. Whatever had happened _to her_ had made her pull away and jump up in fear. For his part, as the kiss drew on, he had seen in his mind flashes of other (future?) kisses with her and of other even more pleasurable acts. It was similar to the deja vu he'd experienced a few times since he had met Emma and her children, but even more vivid and certainly more erotic.

The flashes didn't scare him though. He was beginning to get used to the side effects that came with these feelings, this pull that Emma had on him, and this one certainly wasn't unpleasant. On the contrary, he'd been quite willing to accept the visions as part of the heady experience of kissing her.

Until she'd pulled away.

Now, he was trying not to hate himself for losing himself to the bliss of kissing her. He must have pushed too far, and now she was pulling away again.

As the day drew on, depression started to settle onto him like a heavy mantle as he considered the prospect of another quiet evening at home alone. It's quite likely that this was why, when he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket as he was tying down the sails of the Tea Party ship a little before five o'clock, he nearly got himself permanently tangled in the ropes and rigging as he hurried to grab the device.

The message was from Emma (Of course it was. Nobody else texted him except for work, and he was already _at_ work.) She was asking him to join them for dinner that evening whenever he got home. His heart leapt with joy and relief, and he nearly did a silly little jig of happiness right there on the deck of that faux-historic vessel. He took ten more minutes to finish his work before texting her back that he would be there shortly after six.

He wasn't trying to play it cool or make her think he wasn't interested. Well, he was _sort of_ playing it cool. He just didn't want to scare her by responding within twenty seconds with an all caps YES and all sorts of exclamation points and emojis that involved hearts. (Not that responding as such hadn't been his first instinct.)

There was certainly a skip in his step as he walked down the gangway to the bridge and back into the museum to pack up his stuff and say good night to the rest of the staff.

 

Xanathusa studied the two vials in front of her. She felt herself sneering at how tiny they were; at how little magic she had to work with. The dark fairies expected miracles to happen in a land without magic, but they were unwilling to part with any meaningful amount of the magic needed to _make_ miracles occur. Othrall had allowed her to extract just a small, ephemeral cloud of light, no larger than her fist, from the receptacle containing what they had gathered from the girl so far. How it had shimmered and swirled, emitting pure warmth and the light of two generations of true love. As she had channeled it into the vials, she'd craved more of its power. What she'd be able to do with just a _touch_ more.

But she had enough, she thought. When concentrated and properly channeled, the girl's magic was potent enough to work in this land, and Xanathusa had ages of experience with magic and spells. So, she had worked for days.

First, she'd conceived of a plan that would remove the pirate and allow Xanathusa to repair the conduit so that she could reenter the child's dreams and continue the extraction process that had been halted days ago. Next, she had needed to split the magic into two vials so that she could cultivate both portions into what she needed for each part of her plan.

She had to bend and manipulate one portion into a spell to use on the pirate. That part was relatively simple.

She needed the magic in the second vial to repair the conduit, and that was more complicated and was going to require some help from the girl to reach its full effect. When it did, however, the conduit would be even more powerful than before. It would speed up the extraction process and with any luck would finally shut up those self-aggrandizing fairies.

What side effects the faster extraction would have on the girl, however, she couldn't say.

In all, it was a delicate plan. It relied as much on her wits and ability to portray this frail old woman character almost as much as it required the two vials of magic before her.

All Sunday afternoon and evening, she watched and listened by her door, knowing that the opportunity to strike was close.

 

Killian still felt the lightness in his step and in his heart as he quickly walked from the T stop to their building. He had texted Emma back asking what he could bring to dinner, but she had quickly replied that he only need bring himself.

He would normally feel that it was bad form to attend a dinner empty-handed, but he was in such a rush to see Emma and the kids, and their interactions had become so warm comfortable, that he made an exception in this case.

He unlocked the front door of the building and strode across the first floor to the steps, only to feel his heart sink when he heard Mrs. Xavier's door open behind him.

“Oh, good evening Mr. Jones,” she said as he turned around to face her.

“Hello, Mrs. Xavier. Nice to see you,” he replied with as much kindness as he could summon.

“And I'm quite glad that I heard you come in. Could I trouble you for a small favor?” she asked meekly. “It should only take a minute.”

Killian mustered what he hoped was a charming and patient smile, “Of course, love. What can I do for you?”

“Oh thank you. I just need some help getting a jar of sauce off of a high shelf in the kitchen. I don't trust myself with a step stool these days.”

She beckoned Killian inside and he followed. Her apartment was dark and predictably musty. The shades were drawn even though dusk was approaching outside, but he could just make out a sparsely furnished living room with crocheted blankets laying across the small couch and chairs. He followed her through the entry way to the kitchen, which was off to the right. He looked up at the shelf she indicated after she opened a cabinet.

“I just need that jar of tomato sauce on the top shelf. Oh, and maybe grab the cooking sherry while you're up there.”

Killian nodded, reached up to procure the requested items, and placed them on the counter.

“Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Jones!” she exclaimed. “You saved my night.”

“Of course,” Killian replied, giving her a gentlemanly little bow. “Any time.” He turned to go and she followed him to the door.

“I hope I wasn't keeping you from any plans!” Mrs. Xavier mused from behind him.

“No, nothing urgent. I was just heading up to dinner myself.” They were in her doorway now, and his compelling desire to get upstairs to see Emma, Hope, and Henry had reawakened with a vengeance.

“Oh, by yourself?”

Killian winced. It appeared that he wasn't getting out of this encounter easily. “Um, no actually,” he stammered. “I'm having dinner with Emma and the kids.”

Mrs. Xavier clapped her hands together and cried, “Oh how lovely for you. Such a nice family. It's so fortunate for everyone that you happened to move in across the hall.” 

Killian nodded absently and considered whether he should invite her to dinner. He hated to think of someone being all alone all the time, and he thought the gentlemanly thing to do would be to invite her. He took a breath and asked. “Would you...like to join us? I'm sure Emma wouldn't mind...”

She shook her head quickly and clamped her hand down onto his left arm. “No no. You're sweet, but I'm just fine. No need to worry about me.” To his surprise, she then moved her hand from his arm to his face, resting it on his left cheek.

Her palm was cold at first, but he felt an odd warming sensation in the middle of it, right where it rested against the top of his trim beard. He forced himself to smile. “If you're certain then. I'd best be on my way.”

She removed her palm and smiled. “Of course, Mr. Jones. Have a lovely time.” Her eyes were warm but had an underlying hint of knowing something that he didn't. He suddenly _needed_ to be upstairs with Emma, Henry, and Hope even more than he did before.

As he turned and started up the first flight of stairs, he heard Mrs. Xavier's door click shut behind him.

He hurried up the stairs, but as he turned on the landing and started up the second flight between the first and second floors, he began to feel unwell. Suddenly, a blackness crept into his vision from all sides until he could only see a dark blur. At the same time, a sense of powerful vertigo overwhelmed him. He had just a second to muse darkly that this was worse than the worst seasickness he'd ever felt on the most violent of seas, before he stumbled backwards towards the flight of steps he'd just climbed. Too late, he realized that, one: he was about to faint and fall backwards, and two: he was closest to the _left_ railing and unable to grasp it for stability with his small hook.

Desperate, he reached his right hand across to try to grab the railing on his left, but that was the fatal blow to his balance. Utter dread consumed him as he began to fall back, his arms flailing helplessly in the air. Then he passed out.

 

Emma and Henry were topping the pizza they'd made with pepperoni and green peppers (except for about one eighth of the pie, which was topped with sauce and cheese only for Hope.) Emma felt keyed up and full of nervous energy about seeing Killian again. She had been thinking a lot about their kiss on Friday and the visions that accompanied it. Even though she still carried some wariness about the intensity of her reaction to him, it certainly wasn't an unpleasant thing to think about.

She did, however, worry that there was a very good chance that her cheeks would turn bright pink as soon as he walked in the door.

Oh well, she could blame it on the heat from the oven.

Henry placed the pizza in the oven, and Emma had begun to clean up, when she noticed that Hope was standing up against the front door with her ear pressed to the metal as if she was listening for something. Emma watched her for a moment, and then Hope suddenly grabbed the knob and began to open the door.

“Hope!” Emma jogged around the kitchen counter and caught the little girl by the arm before she could open the door all the way and step into the hallway. “Sweetheart, you know you're not supposed to open that door. What are you doing?”

“I heard something!” Hope replied forcefully. “I think someone fell.”

“What?” Emma stuck her head out the door and looked down the steps leading up to the third floor. “Honey, nobody is out there,” she said, looking back at Hope.

“Someone fell. I heard it. I know it. What if it was Killian?” Hope was sure, and Emma could tell immediately that the little girl was going to stand her ground on this one. She recognized the stubborn little chin jutting out in determination as a trait that she'd passed on to her daughter. “I'm going down to look!” Hope continued, moving to open the door again.

Emma sighed, gently picked up her daughter, gave her a comforting squeeze, and put her down a few steps inside the apartment. “Stay here, I'll look.” Emma stepped all the way out of her apartment to the staircase and looked down through the center hole made by the right-angled design of the steps. Sure enough, below the very bottom step all the way down on the ground floor, Emma could just see the toe of a shoe belonging to a person laying on the floor. Shit.

Hope appeared at her side. “Mom, I think it's Killian.” The little girl's eyes were wide with panic and her lip was trembling. She grabbed at Emma's wrist as if to lead her down the steps.

“Wait, sweetie. Stay here. I'm going to go check.” She quickly but gently guided Hope back inside once again. “Henry, can you watch your sister for a second? I think someone might be hurt downstairs.” She grabbed her phone off the coffee table and slipped on some shoes.

“Mommy!!” Hope pleaded, increasingly panicked by whatever she thought had happened.

“What did you see, mom?” Henry asked, picking up his sister, who was on the verge of tears.

“Someone might be laying down there. It's going to be okay.” She gave Hope a quick, comforting stroke on the cheek and then rushed down the stairs.

As she went, the familiar nausea of dread started to overwhelm her. She knew that someone was really wrong. She felt it. Later she would think that in those seconds before she saw him, she'd felt a sickening apprehension that was worse than the feeling she'd had when a Massachusetts State Police officer knocked on her door the night Neal died.

When she got to the landing between the first and second floor, she could see him fully, laid out at the bottom of the steps. He was laying motionless on his back. She had her phone in her hand and and dialed 9-1-1 as she flew down the stairs. Kneeling beside him as she waited for an answer, she crazily wondered if somehow she had entered into one of Hope's bad dreams.

Because he looked dead. And if he was, then this could only be a nightmare.

“9-1-1, what's your emergency?”

Emma replied as best she could. That her friend had fallen down the steps. That he was unconscious but there was no visible bleeding. She gave her address. Her mouth was dry and her brain was a shambles, but the operator seemed to understand her.

The operator instructed Emma to feel for a pulse, and she carefully placed two fingers against Killian's neck to see if she could detect one. Her heart rate continue to quicken with stress as she felt along his skin and didn't detect anything at first. He's still warm though, she told herself. Thank God.

She dared a look at his face as she searched for the beat. He was so beautiful; so soft and kind. And now he was broken.

She choked back a sob. She just wanted to wrap him up in her arms and fix him.

After holding her own breath for a moment and fighting to keep calm, she finally felt his pulse. It seemed weak and slow to Emma's untrained touch, but it was there. She told the operator as much, and the woman replied that the ambulance had an ETA of four minutes. She said that she would stay on the line. Emma stammered “okay” in response.

She removed her fingers from Killian's pulse and placed her hand on his cheek. “Killian, wake up, please!” she said loudly, even though she could tell that he was out cold. “Please be okay,” she added in a soft plea. Her heart was racing, and she forced herself to calm her breathing. She continued to study his face for any sign of consciousness, and she began to gently stroke his hair away from his forehead as she waited.

Suddenly, Henry's voice rang out through the stairwell from above. “Mom, what's going on?”

Emma panicked, terrified that the kids might see him like this. “It's okay, Henry. I called 9-1-1. They're coming. Go back inside.”

“Is it Killian?” he called back.

She paused, but what could she say? “It is,” she replied, and she heard the tears in the back of her voice. “I think he fell. But he's going to be okay. Don't come down. I'll be up soon.”

“Mommy?” That was Hope. Her tone was urgent but not hysterical and Emma was thankful for that.

“It's okay, baby,” Emma called, amazed by the calm tone she had mustered. “Killian just took a bad step and bumped his head. The ambulance is coming.”

Emma heard a soft command from Henry to Hope and then was relieved when she heard their apartment door shut.

At that moment, one of the apartment doors in front of her opened, and a figure stepped out. Emma's mind was a mess but eventually she registered that it was old Mrs. Xavier. She glanced up at the woman as she continued to kneel beside Killian.

“Oh dear. Oh no. Mr. Jones!” she cried. “I was just talking to him! What happened?”

Emma didn't take her eyes off of Killian's face. “He fell,” she said shortly. “Wait, you talked to him just now? Did he seem okay?” Emma finally looked at the woman's face, searching for an explanation.

“He did. He seemed fine! He helped me get something off a shelf in my kitchen. Such a nice man!”

Emma grunted her assent and went back to starting at Killian, willing him to wake up.

Finally, she heard the sirens, and the ambulance pulled up in front of the building.

There was a flurry of activity as the EMTs bounded up the front steps to enter the front doors that Emma had jumped up to open. She answered the few questions that she could. (No, she hadn't seen it happen. No, she didn't know if he was on any medications. Yes, the injury to his arm was quite old.)

They placed a neck brace on him and slid him onto a stabilizing backboard to lift him onto the gurney. Emma had been standing back to give them room to work, but she suddenly realized that they were going to take him away. She was torn for a moment, wanting to jump into the back of the ambulance with him, but there were a lot of EMTs, and they needed room to work. Plus, she needed to get back upstairs to talk to the kids and get them settled before she went to the hospital.

She picked up Killian's discarded messenger bag and clutched it to her chest. One of the EMT's told her that they'd be taking him to the trauma center at Mass General. She nodded and instinctively grabbed Killian's hand, squeezing it gently and holding on to him as long as she could before they wheeled him out. She prayed that he would feel her and know that she was there. That she would be coming for him soon.

She watched them load him into the ambulance before realizing that Mrs. Xavier was still standing in her doorway.

"Poor man,” the old woman said as Emma turned towards her.

Emma tried to organize her thoughts and remembered something the woman had said a few minutes earlier. “So you  _just_ saw him?” Emma asked. “He helped you with something?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Such a gentleman. I needed help getting something off of a high shelf and he did it for me. Such a nice man.”

“But he was okay? He was himself?” Emma asked, still half in a daze but needing to understand how her strong, agile friend who had spent most of his life on the sea could have lost his balance and fallen so badly.

“He seemed fine!” the woman insisted. “Please, is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, no,” Emma said absently, already turning back to the stairs. She needed to see the kids. “Thank you,” she said finally and began to ascend as quickly as she could.

The old woman's reply was lost to her as Emma made her way up. When she entered the apartment, she found Henry and Hope sitting on the floor by the front door. Henry held Hope on his lap. She had apparently been staring daggers at the door waiting for Emma to return, and Emma found herself the target of the little girl's intense and tearful gaze as she entered.

“What happened to Killian?” Hope asked fearfully.

Emma gently placed Killian's messenger bag next to the door and squatted down in front of the kids. “He fell down the steps by the first floor. He might have bumped his head, but the paramedics came, and they're going to take him to the hospital to check him out.”

Henry squeezed Hope tightly as the little girl processed the information. “So he went in an ambulance?” she asked.

“Yep,” Emma replied, “with sirens and everything. They're going to get him to the hospital super fast to make sure he's okay. And I'm going to go there now to check on him.”

Hope continued to nod seriously. “I want to go too,” she said firmly.

“I know you do, bean,” Emma said, reverting back to a nickname she'd called the little girl when she was younger. “But the hospital doesn't let kids visit after dinner time, at night. So I have to go myself. Henry is going to stay with you. You guys can eat the pizza and get ready for bed, and I'll call you as soon as I see Killian.”

Hope looked crestfallen, and Emma was worried that she would melt down over not being able to accompany her to the hospital.

But Henry gave Hope another squeeze and said, “We'll be fine, kid. We can watch whatever movie you want while we wait for Mom to call. Time will go by quick.”

Emma smiled at her son, marveling again at his sweetness and maturity beyond his years. She grabbed her purse and fixed her disheveled ponytail before kissing them each goodbye and heading out.

 

Henry was worried. His mom was the toughest person he'd ever met, so when she was rattled, it scared him. She put on a brave face for Hope, but Henry knew his mom well enough to know that whatever had happened to Killian was serious.

He was kind of pissed, too. He felt like this was just another instance of shitty luck that seemed to befall him and his mom. They met somebody really nice, who clearly liked _all_ of them, and something terrible had happened to him.

Henry didn't realize he was stomping around the kitchen, taking the now slightly burnt pizza out of the oven to cool and preparing snacks until he noticed that Hope was standing in the doorway glaring at him.

“Henry,” she said forcefully, although it still sounded cute because she replaced the 'r' with a 'w.' “I want to call Mom.”

Henry finished dumping a bag of Pirate Booty vegetable puffs into a bowl and looked at her with a sigh. “Hope, she just left a few minutes ago. She probably hasn't even gotten to the hospital yet.”

“But hoooooowwwwww loonnnnnnng will it take?” Hope whined, with a little stomp of her foot. “When will she see Killian?”

Henry picked up the snack bowl and walked over to his little sister. He took her hand and led her to the couch. He put down the bowl, picked up Hope and put her down next to him so that they were closer to eye level.

He knew that trying to put her off was pointless, and that talking to her like a grownup was his best chance of getting through to her. “Hope,” he said seriously, “Killian did get hurt. But he's young and strong, and he got medical help right away. They are taking care of him, and Mom is going to tell us as soon as she finds out he's okay. It just might be an hour or even two or three. Hospitals are busy.”

She looked him in the eye with an expression that was mature beyond her years. “Okay,” she said quietly. “I get it.” She paused, seeming to remember something and added. “He'll be all right. He's a survivor.”

Henry was giving her a funny look, wondering how she came up with this stuff, when he heard a light knock at the door.

He walked over and looked through the peephole warily, then sighed when he saw old Mrs. Xavier outside. She was carrying what looked like a box of crackers. He opened the door and greeted her as politely as he could.

“Oh, hello, young man,” the old woman replied. “I was downstairs when the paramedics came for Mr. Jones. I was so sorry to see he was hurt. I thought your mom might have gone to the hospital, so I wanted to come check on you children.”

Henry knew that she was just trying to be nice, but he also thought she was a little weird and didn't want to invite her in. Plus, he still thought the best way to distract Hope was with food and movie, so he wanted to get back to it.

“I didn't have time to bake cookies,” Mrs. X continued, holding up her box of generic butter crackers. “But I had some crackers! I wanted to bring something.”

Henry accepted the box with a nod and said, “That was really nice of you. We're fine, though. We're just going to watch a movie and wait for my mom to call.”

“I see. What a good big brother you are.”

He nodded, expecting her to leave, but she didn't. She craned her neck so that she could look past him inside the apartment at Hope, who was now standing behind Henry near the the dining table.

“Oh hello, lass,” the old woman called.

“Hi,” said Hope quietly.

“Well,” Henry said, “thanks for checking on us. Have a good nigh-”

“I wonder, young man,” the woman interrupted. “Could I trouble you for a glass of water? I'm not used to that climb up the stairs.”

“Of course,” Henry replied politely. “Do you want to come in and sit down for a second?” It was clear they weren't getting rid of this woman that easily, so he figured he might as well just accept it and do his best to be polite. She was just lonely and trying to be helpful.

“Oh, thank you, young man!” she said gratefully as she walked past him to the table. He hurried behind her to pull out a chair so that she could sit. Hope took a couple steps back and eyed her warily.

Oh well, Henry thought. At least this was a distraction. He headed into the kitchen to put down the box of crackers and get a glass of water.

“How are you, little lass?” the woman asked Hope. “I'll bet you are worried about your friend Mr. Jones.”

Henry watched out of the corner of his eye and noticed Hope's little lip quiver as she answered that yes, she was.

“Well, I'm sure he'll be fine. Big strong man like that has certainly survived worse!”

Henry raised an eyebrow at the woman's weird choice of words as he walked over and handed her the water. She thanked him profusely and took a couple of slow sips.

From the seat Mrs X had chosen, she could see into the kitchen, and Henry realized too late that she had clear view of the broken butterfly jar at the end of the counter.

“Oh, dear,” she said when she noticed it. “Miss Hope, what happened to our butterfly friend?”

Hope glanced into the kitchen and shrugged. “It fell down and broked.”

“Well, we can't have that!” Mrs. X exclaimed. “I'm sure I can fix it while I'm here. Would you like that?”

Hope shrugged at first, but Henry gave her a 'be polite' glare, and she added a nod and said “Okay.”

Henry figured that the faster the jar was fixed, the sooner they could send their visitor on her way, so he brought it over to the table along with a tube of glue from a drawer in the kitchen.

Mrs. X thanked him and then patted the seat next to her so that Hope could sit and watch the repair. Henry only paid a little attention to what the woman was doing as he set about cutting the pizza into slices and scraping off the burned parts of the crust.

When he looked back at the table, the old woman had finished gluing the butterfly back onto the branch and reattaching the plastic bell jar to the base.

Hope was still eyeing her warily when the old woman addressed her. “Now, young miss,” she said to the little girl. “There's just one final step to make sure that our little silken friend is as good as new.” Carefully, she reached over and took Hope's little right hand and placed it on top of the plastic jar. Mrs. X covered Hope's hand with her own.

“Now,” she said, “We close our eyes and say the magic words! Do you know the magic words?”

Henry watched as Hope shrugged and said, “I don't know. I guess abracadabra?”

“That's right!” the old woman replied. “On the count of three. One, two, three...”

“Abracadabra!” they both said, Mrs. X with enthusiasm and Hope with boredom, clearly just humoring the woman.

Henry smiled and was turning back towards his pizza when he thought he caught a flash of light coming from the direction of Hope and Mrs. X, almost as if it had emanated from their hands. He watched them closely as they removed their hands from the butterfly jar and inspected it to make sure it was fixed. The flash he thought he'd seen did not reoccur. He shrugged it off as a reflection or a trick of the light from the lamp.

Mrs. X stood and ceremoniously placed the butterfly jar in Hope's hands. “Now, young miss, our winged friend is all fixed! It's even almost dry already! Just be very, very careful from now on!”

Hope nodded solemnly, but Henry thought she still looked a little wary of the woman.

“I almost forgot!” Mrs. X continued before she turned to leave. “In many cultures, butterflies are good luck! If you take good care of this and wish very hard on it, maybe your Mr. Jones will get better soon!”

Hope's eyes widened in wonder at that. Clearly, Mrs. X had hit upon the motivation that his little sister needed to truly appreciate the gift. Henry was annoyed. This weird woman was playing on the fragile emotions of a small child because of a stupid decoration.

He walked over and opened the door pointedly. “I should get Hope her dinner,” he told Mrs. X.

“Of course, young man! I wish you all the best. Please let me know if I can help you while your mom is out.”

Henry didn't know why, but in his mind he suddenly saw a picture of the Evil Queen from the cartoon version of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” when she was disguised as an old crone to trick the young princess. Something about Mrs. X's overly sweet, generous demeanor towards him, and especially towards his sister, was rubbing him the wrong way. He couldn't wait to get her out of their apartment.

With a final creepy smile and wink at Hope, the old woman left.

Henry settled down in front of the TV with Hope and tried to get her to eat some dinner. She took a couple bites then pushed her plate aside. Instead of concentrating on the movie they were watching, she asked him every five minutes whether their mom had texted with an update on Killian. She kept the butterfly next to her on the couch and insisted that, tonight, she would keep it on her nightstand. “Because the lady said it would be good luck for Killian. He _has_ to get better.”

“I know, kid,” Henry assured her. “He will.”

 

When Emma arrived at the ER, the woman at registration could only tell her that Killian was being worked on in a trauma room, but she didn't have any information on his condition. She did hand Emma a clipboard with a set of forms for her to fill out as best she could.

Emma sat down in waiting area chair and tried her best with the forms, but she couldn't put down much beyond his name and address. She didn't even write his place of employment, because she didn't know if he had health insurance through the museum. Plus, he wasn't from the United States, and she worried that there was a chance he didn't have a proper work visa and was being paid off-books. She didn't want to get him in trouble, and she figured they could deal with it when he woke up. Because he would wake up. _He had to_.

The registration administrator raised an eyebrow at her when she returned the forms without insurance information, but Emma just mumbled an explanation about how Killian had recently changed jobs, and she wasn't sure what his current insurance plan was. She took a seat in the waiting room after being told someone would find her when there was an update on his condition.

Emma sat in the waiting room, sick with worry, for 45 minutes before another nurse came out and asked for Emma Swan. Emma stood to meet her, trying to mentally prepare herself for bad news. This was  _her_ life after all.

 The nurse was in her late forties with reddish hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She looked as Boston-Irish as could be, and when she spoke, it was with a thick Boston accent.

“So, you're the wife?” the nurse asked, a little brusquely.

“What? No,” Emma replied, off kilter. “I'm a friend. We live across the hall from Killian.”

“Ah. I'm sorry,” the nurse replied. “I was on the trauma team when they brought him in. He had just regained consciousness in the rig, and he was asking if Emma was here. He said you were his wife,” she added matter-of-factly.

“Oh, no. We're just friends. We haven't even known each other that long.”

“I see. He was probably just out of it when he first woke up. Anyway, if you had any doubt about his intentions towards you, I guess you don't anymore!” She punctuated that last part with a braying laugh.

Emma felt like she was going crazy. Killian was badly hurt. Hope thought he was her father. Killian apparently thought Emma was his wife. And this nurse was actually  _joking_ with her.

"So, he was conscious?” Emma finally asked, trying to focus back on the matter at hand.

The nurse returned to 'all business' mode and nodded. “Yep. He was conscious when he got here, which is a good sign. He seemed lucid, other than letting it slip that he thought you were his wife. They have him up in radiology now. There were contusions in multiple spots on his head, so they're doing a head CT. He's probably got a concussion. They're also going to do some x-rays to check for fractured ribs, because he was complaining of pain there. But, there's no paralysis or anything, so it seems like he avoided a serious back or spine injury, which is very fortunate.”

Emma nodded, trying to process it all. Her relief at the good news was heavily tempered by the worries that remained. He wasn't paralyzed. That was good. But he had head injuries, a concussion.

Emma had a rough and tumble type of job, AND she had kids. She knew a little bit about head injuries, and she knew that a bad enough blow to the head could result in a brain bleed, or even just a concussion that was serious enough to have lasting effects.

“When can I see him?” she asked.

“Soon,” the nurse replied. “He should be back down within an hour, and someone will come find you so that you can see him and talk to one of the doctors.”

Emma nodded and replied that she'd stay right there in the waiting area. She was surprised when the nurse put aside her 'seen it all' bedside manner for a moment and squeezed Emma's arm in a comforting gesture. “I know it might not feel this way right now, but it looks like he _was_ lucky _._ This could have been much worse.”

Emma nodded again, not trusting her voice. Kind gestures from strangers always caused her to well up with tears. Maybe because such gestures had been all too rare in her life.

The nurse left, and Emma got out her phone to call Henry and let him and Hope know that Killian was going to be okay. Henry told her about weird old Mrs. X's visit, and Emma rolled her eyes and praised Henry for being as polite as he could. When she spoke to Hope, the little girl made her promise that she could see Killian tomorrow. Emma didn't know the hospital's visitor policy regarding kids, but she made the promise anyway. There was no way Hope was going to go to bed unless she knew for sure that she would see Killian the next day.

After 'I love you's' and 'goodnights' had been said, Emma set about the task of waiting. She rushed down to the cafeteria to grab some coffee then returned to her seat in the waiting area. She killed a little time going through the handful of work related emails she'd received over the weekend. After she stared blankly at a magazine for another 30 minutes, the red-headed nurse returned and told her that she could come back to see Killian.

The nurse told her that they were planning to admit him to the hospital for the night, but that they had returned him to the ER while they waited for a bed to be ready in a patient room.

The redhead led her back toward a curtained off area in the bustling ER, and Emma's heart beat a thundering tattoo in her chest as she prepared to see Killian with his injuries.

When the nurse pulled back the curtain, Emma found Killian laying in the small bed, staring at the ceiling, seemingly concentrating on something. When he heard the curtain move he looked at her and smiled slightly.

“Swan,” he said, his voice thick and throaty.

“Hi there,” she said dumbly, hearing the teary emotion in her voice. She wanted to run to the side of his bed, throw her arms around his neck, and cradle him. But that would probably hurt him. Or scare him. Or probably both.

Instead, she walked to his bedside and patted his shoulder. She wanted to take his hand, but she was standing on his left. He wore no brace and his blunted wrist was visible in the short-sleeved hospital gown.

She felt awkward until, to her relief, he reached over with his right hand and partially covered hers resting on his shoulder. Then he leaned his head to his left so that his cheek was resting against both of their hands. He closed his eyes and seemed to simply appreciate her presence, and she took the opportunity to take stock of his injuries.

He didn't look too bad, as it turned out. There was a bruise over his right eye, but otherwise his face was as perfect as it always was. When he finally picked up his head and pulled his hand back to his side, Emma could tell that the movement hurt him, and she winced as she remembered his possibly broken ribs.

The red-headed nurse cleared her throat, breaking them from their quiet reunion. “So, one of the doctors who treated him should be here shortly. Hopefully they will have had a chance to look at the scans and tell you if there are any breaks or other issues. But for now, he should just keep resting.”

They nodded and she left.

“So,” Killian started before the charged silence between them became awkward. “This is not part of my usual repertoire for a second date.”

“Oh,” Emma said, smiling. “So this is our _second_ date now?”

“Aye. Although, I have to say, you've thrown me off my game, love, because neither of our dates have quite lived up to my usual standards.”

“Really?” Emma teased. “You don't normally throw yourself down a flight of stairs to get a woman's attention?”

His smile faltered, and Emma was sorry for her joke. She made bad jokes when she was nervous.

“Killian-” she began.

“No, it's okay,” he replied before she could apologize. “I'm still just rattled. I don't understand how this happened. What could have been so wrong with me that I passed out.”

His eyes were searching again. He had the same look of serious concentration he'd had when she'd first walked in and seen him.

Emma spotted a small rolling stool in the corner and wheeled it over to the right side of his bed. She sat down, took his hand, and gently stroked it with her thumb.  “What do you remember?” she asked quietly.

He squeezed her hand a little as he began to speak. “I remember running into Mrs. Xavier and helping her in her apartment. I remember inviting her to dinner...”

Emma raised her eyebrows at that.

“Well, she seemed lonely. But she declined.”

Emma rubbed his hand with a little more pressure. “You are a very nice person,” she told him with a smile.

He cocked an eyebrow and winked at her. “You haven't known me _that_ long, love.”

She rolled her eyes and nudged him to continue.

“Then I started to make my way up the stairs,” he went on. “The last thing I remember is that, after I reached the first landing, I started to black out. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced in my life. Well, sober at least. I can only describe it as an extraordinarily sudden fainting spell. Everything just went black, and I woke up in the ambulance. Thank you for calling them, by the way. For finding me.” He squeezed her hand again.

Tears sprung to her eyes as she flashed back to the terror she felt at seeing him lying on that cold marble floor. “Well,” she replied, “you're welcome, but you should really thank Hope and her weird supernatural hearing. She insisted that something was wrong until I agreed to look downstairs.”

Emma saw the shine of tears in Killian's eyes as he took in the information that Hope had been his savior. “Then I suppose that Lady Hope is my little guardian angel,” he answered, his voice thick with emotion. “I will have to buy her a whole cookies and cream sundae as a reward.”

Emma smiled through her tears. She was so relived that he was, seemingly, okay. That she was sitting here talking to him and making plans for him to see Hope again. She couldn't even speak as she worked to gather herself. Briefly, she wondered if he remembered waking up and asking for 'his wife.' But then she realized, even if he _did_ remember saying that, he didn't know that _she_ knew he'd said it, so he wasn't likely to bring it up.

When she was able to look him in the face again, she saw that he was just as emotional as she was. He looked at her with deep, unbridled affection and gave her a small smile. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, and they just sat for a little while, enjoying a quiet moment.

A short time later, the curtain was pulled back, and a doctor wearing light blue scrubs and a white lab coat entered briskly. She had dark skin, short curly hair, and a slight African accent. She introduced herself to Emma as Dr. Okonedo and said that she'd been the resident on Killian's team.

“So,” she said brightly to Killian. “How are you feeling after your tumble, Mr. Jones? I'm sure you gave Miss Emma quite a scare.”

Emma watched Killian consider his response and guessed that he was struggling between the options of either telling the truth or downplaying his pain as part of some hyper-masculine idea of toughness. She gently nudged his arm and scolded, “Tell her the _truth_.”

Killian sighed and rolled his eyes a little before looking back at Dr. Okonedo. “My head is pounding, and if I turn it too quickly, I get a sense of dizziness, even though I'm lying down. My ribs are sore, especially on the left side.”

At his pause, the doctor and Emma simultaneously raised their eyebrows at him in “Is that _really_ it?” expressions.

He sighed again but gave in to the two women who were ganging up on him. “And I feel a bit nauseous,” he finished.

“Okay,” the doctor replied in her brisk, but kind manner. “So the head CT did not detect any fractures or bleeding, which is good news. However, your head suffered two different significant blows during your fall.” She walked over to Killian's left side, and gently felt the side of his head. “There is one here, on the side, and then a second one here in the back.”

She motioned for Emma to stand and said, “Miss Emma, if you reach here, you can feel the two separate hematomas.” Emma stood, and Dr. Okonedo gently took her left hand and guided it to the two spots on Killian's head that were sporting nasty risen bumps.

“Do you feel them?” the doctor asked.

“Yep. Yikes,” Emma replied, taking the opportunity to gently stroke Killian's hair just above the center bump before she pulled her hand away. He rewarded her with another sincere, affectionate smile.

The doctor went on. “It seems likely that you fell and hit your head once when you fell, and then tumbled over and hit it again when you landed at the bottom. You were already unconscious when you fell, so it is likely that you hit the stairs and the floor quite hard. It is probable that you suffered a concussion, and your nausea and dizziness are consistent with that.”

“And there's not much we can do to treat it, right?” Emma asked with concern. “Just rest?”

“That's right,” the doctor replied. “We'll certainly keep him here tonight to monitor the symptoms, but given that the other X-rays showed no fractures to his ribs, only bruises, he can likely go home tomorrow. However, he'll have to rest and will need you to help monitoring his symptoms at home to make sure they continue to diminish.”

Emma felt Killian squirm a little in his bed, and she realized he might be uncomfortable with the doctor just assuming that she was his wife or girlfriend and would be the one to monitor his recovery. She did not want him to worry or be embarrassed about that  _at all_ , so she took his hand again and said, “Absolutely. I'll make sure he rests, and I'll watch his symptoms.”

“Good. We'll give you instructions about what to watch for when he is discharged.” Dr. Okonedo looked at Killian again. “Now, Mr. Jones, we ran a toxicology screen on you, which I'm sure you already know came back negative. You told us before that you had eaten normally today and had no history of fainting. Can you think of _anything_ at all that might have caused you to lose consciousness? Or any other medical symptoms you might have been experiencing lately? Any dizziness, things like that?”

Killian concentrated for a moment but shook his head. “I honestly can't,” he told her. “I've been wracking my brain. Reliving that moment on the stairs. I had been feeling fine all day. I can't for the life of me understand what happened.”

A horrible thought occurred to Emma. “Do you think there could be another problem that caused the fainting? Something you haven't detected yet?”

The doctor looked at her kindly. “I am not concerned that we are missing something serious. A stroke would have shown up on the head CT. I agree that there is no clear explanation for the fainting spell, but because it was just the one instance, I think that there is no need to continue to look for other causes. If it happens again, we'll reconsider.”

The doctor patiently answered a few more questions for Emma and then bade them goodnight. Emma's mind was a mixture of relief and continued nagging concern about Killian's concussion and the mystery of _why_ he fainted. But she forced herself to be upbeat and positive, joking with him when the orderlies came to move him to a patient room. Dramatically turning away when they moved him from the bed to a wheelchair (since those hospital gowns that close in the back leave little to the imagination.)

She texted updates to Henry as she followed the orderlies and Killian to his room. She told her boy she'd be home soon.

Once she made sure that Killian was settled in his room, she gathered up her coat and bag and prepared to say goodnight.

“Emma,” he said, taking her right hand in his as she stood by his bed. His eyes were again full of emotion and sincerity as he spoke. “Thank you again, so much, for finding me. And for coming here and staying with me. I've been alone for a very long time, and if I didn't have you and Hope and Henry in my life now...” he trailed off, no doubt picturing himself laying at the bottom of the stairs for hours, or sitting in the ER injured and alone.

“Hey, Killian,” Emma replied, squeezing his hand and looking at him intently, “I'm glad we were here too. Please don't scare us again like that, okay? Hope has been having a fit all evening.”

He chuckled. “Please give the little lass a big hug for me, and tell her I owe her _two_ sundaes now. One for saving me, and one for all the worry I caused her.”

Emma laughed. “I'll come back tomorrow morning. Your phone is right here on the table, so text me if you get updates from the doctors about when they're discharging you, and call me _immediately_ if your symptoms get worse.” She gave him her sternest glare, the one she saved only for her scummiest skips or when she was reminding Henry _never_ to get into a car with a friend who'd been drinking. 

“Yes, milady,” Killian replied cheekily.

Emma rolled her eyes. Then, in a moment of spontaneity, leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead. She suddenly pulled back. “Oh shit, that didn't hurt your head, did it?”

“On the contrary, love, I think that I've never felt better."

“What a charmer.” She left him with one final eye roll and a small wave as she walked out the door. He grinned and waved back.

Emma sped home and made it back to the apartment before eleven. Henry told her that Hope had finally passed out around ten, but that she'd been anxious and upset all night, even after Emma texted the kids that Killian was okay. He also told her about “weird old Mrs. X's” visit and the repaired butterfly jar.

“Wow,” Emma said, “I guess that was nice of her to stop by to check on you. But I'm not sure how much help she'd be, other than for fixing butterfly decorations. She seems pretty frail.”

Henry chuckled and shrugged. “Mom,” he then said seriously, “I'm really glad Killian's okay.”

“Me too, kid,” she replied. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Emma checked on Hope, went through her nighttime routine, then collapsed onto her bed in exhaustion.

 

She was in a deep, deep sleep when she realized that Henry was calling for her with panic in his voice.

Emma made it to the kids' room in about three strides and felt sick with fear when she saw Hope. The girl must have been suffering another nightmare, but this time, instead of screaming, she had sat up and pulled her knees into her chest so that she was curled into a little ball. Her hands were gripping the sides of her head. She was looking down at her knees and chanting, “No, no, no, please, please, please,” in a moan of deep despair.

Henry had been trying to pull her hands away from her face to get her to look at him, and Emma joined in, finally succeeding in wrenching the girl's hands free.

“Hope,” Emma cried in her most stern 'mom' voice (although now it was filled with panic.) “Please wake up. Now!” Emma grabbed Hope's chin firmly and forced her to look up at her. “Sweetheart,” she begged. “Please! Open your eyes!”

The touch of Emma's hand seemed to help, and Hope began to blink slowly.

“That's good,” Emma praised, her voice quavering. “Come on back to us. You're okay. You're home and safe. We're all safe. Just wake up, sweetie.” She continued to hold her daughter's face and now gently rubbed her legs, which were still pulled in tightly. The little girl was like a ball of tension, but it slowly and gradually began to dissipate as she woke up.

“Mommy?” she said finally, in a groggy voice.

“Yeah baby, it's okay,” Emma told her as she pulled her into a tight hug. “You're okay. We're here.” Hope began to cry as she returned to wakefulness. Suddenly, she pulled away from Emma and seemed to look herself over for a minute, making sure that she was fully in tact. She blinked a few times and then looked at Emma and Henry, as if inspecting them for damage.

Finally she asked, “He's still okay, right? Da–I mean, Killian?”

“Yes, baby,” Emma breathed. “Killian is fine too.”

Hope nodded and returned to Emma's embrace. The little girl was still trembling with fear.

After days of relief, Emma felt the return of the horribly familiar sickening dread that something was really wrong with her daughter.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer delay between updates this time. I've been traveling and have had less time to write, but I am happy to be able to share this one! Poor Killian and poor Hope. I promise, in the next chapter, they will be there for each other!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> David, how I've missed you. xo

_Storybrooke, Maine_

David Nolan was an optimistic person. You could argue that he shouldn't be, after all the crap he'd been through. The loss, the family separations, the curses, the coma. But even after all of it, he still believed in happy endings and refused to give up even when most rational adults would have become jaded and cynical.

It helped that his wife was the embodiment of brilliant, sunshiny hope and determination. She'd had it even worse than him over the course of her life, if that was possible. Having two babies ripped from her by unspeakably evil forces on the days of their respective births 30 years apart should theoretically do irreparable damage to a mother's sense of fairness. But somehow, by some magic inherent in her spirit, she remained unbowed, always looking ahead and expecting better days.

David and Snow drew strength from each other, and they survived not only those calamities, but countless others with their hope and belief in tact.

He sighed sadly as he sat down in the desk chair in the empty sheriff's office early on Monday morning. He placed his coffee and muffin next to the computer keyboard and stared at the ancient PC.

Maybe, he considered, it was because they had been enjoying these last few years of peace so very much that this particular calamity was turning out to be the thing that wore down his optimism.

Things had just been _so good_ for so long. Never in David's wildest imagination did he think that he'd still be this young and be surrounded by such as family as he had. The wife he adored. The son who kept proving he took after both of his parents in unique and surprising ways. The daughter who, thanks to a time-freezing curse years ago, was a friend and an equal who he could still comfort like she was a little girl when she needed it. The grandson whose intelligence and creativity was only matched by his faith in his family. The son-in-law who had systematically dismantled every supposition and prejudice David had about him when they'd met and was now his dearest, most devoted friend.

And then there was his granddaughter. He may have been a touch biased, but he looked at her like she was some kind of miracle. Somehow, the universe had managed to bundle together all the light and joy of his wife with the unparalleled strength of his daughter and infuse it with a hefty dose of the charm and rakish sense of humor of his son-in-law.

And David knew that a little bit of himself was mixed in there too. In tiny Hope Swan-Jones, he saw reflected back at him his own capacity to love so deeply and completely that each member of his family had become a part of him on a core, cellular level. He loved them all so much that he felt like his heart would break over the smallest injury or injustice suffered by any of them. And he knew that Hope felt the same way about the people she loved.

David pictured Hope's beautiful little face. The way that she took _everything_ in and felt it all so deeply. The way that perfect face had creased with deep lines of worry, and how her little lip had quivered when a few months ago, his son (her uncle) had taken a soccer ball to the face and staggered off the field with a bloody nose. How, once he stopped his son's bleeding, David had looked up to see Hope standing close by, gripping her own father's lone hand tightly with her tiny white knuckled one, but not shying away from the sight of blood. She had just needed to see that Neal was okay.

His heart twisted at the thought of Hope, that perfect, funny, innocent child who had become a target. Another angel, barely more than a baby, who had been sought out by evil because of what she was.

He sighed again as he stared at the computer that was now ready for his command. Knowing that, as usual, he would be too distracted and worried to update the Storybrooke PD case file he was supposed to be updating that morning, he didn't even bother opening it and instead launched his Internet browser.

He started his search with “Emma Swan,” as he always did, and each time he followed it with his meticulously created list of the rest of their names. Every possible variation.

Emma Swan-Jones

Emma Nolan

Killian Jones

Henry Mills

Henry Swan-Jones

Hope Swan-Jones

Invariably, he got the same useless hits each time, but he still pored through the results as if the answer might magically appear way down the list of news items involving people with similar names.

Today, however, like a miracle, something new popped up. And he'd only had to search for “Emma Swan.”

“Huh!” David cried, tears springing to his eyes. He looked away from the screen and around the empty station as if there would suddenly be someone there to tell. His daughter the sheriff gently chiding him about how he looked like he'd seen a ghost. His son-in-law, her deputy, making an off-color joke about pure, wholesome David needing to stay away from the shockingly prurient content of the “magic box.”

But the station was empty, of course, so he jumped out of his chair, ran to his truck, and drove to Storybrooke Elementary.

David was an early riser, and he'd been in the office by 7:30, so he still made it to Snow's classroom before her students had started filing in for the start of the school day at 8:30.

He must have stomped noisily into the room, because Snow looked up from her desk with a worried frown as soon as crossed the threshold.

“David, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? Did something happen? I JUST dropped off Neal at his classroom. Is he all right?”

She looked tense and a little panicked. They were back to that now. The easy life full of only minor, normal life worries they'd enjoyed for the four years after the Final Battle was gone. Now, they were always on the razor's edge waiting for the next tragedy. The next set of bad news.

“Yes, no, well, yeah,” he sputtered as he walked in front of her desk and placed the piece of paper down where she could see it.

It was the printout he'd made before leaving the station. The Facebook page for a business called Max Cherry Bail Bonds in Boston, MA had apparently added the information of its new bonds person.

It included only her name and cell phone number, but her name was Emma Swan.

“What?” Snow squealed, jumping out of her chair. “David, you found them!”

He winced at the word “them,” knowing that his wife's optimism was in full force, but his wasn't quite that strong yet. Maybe because of the guilt he still felt from the day of their departure.

Still, he could use a little of that optimism right about now. “It's gotta be her, right?” he asked Snow.

“David, of course it's her! A bail bonds person in Boston named Emma Swan? It's her! She just went back to what she knew. That's all. It makes perfect sense!” Snow stood and hurried from behind her desk to wrap him in a tight embrace.

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy it, to appreciate the comfort this sweet, enthusiastic woman always provided, before he brought them back to reality.

“But they haven't called,” he said sadly. “They haven't found  _any_ way to get in touch with us.”

“That's okay,” Snow reasoned. “They're hiding! They didn't want to risk the dark fairies intercepting the message and figuring out where they were.”

David hated this. Hated having to bethe one to reel her back in when she was being hopeful. She had been so worried about all four of them since they left.  She'd spent days trying to call them before finally accepting that all their phone numbers seemed to be permanently out of service.  She barely slept, and she jumped at every call hoping that it would finally be Emma or Killian trying to get in touch with them.  

They had all agreed that taking Hope to the land without magic was the safest option until they could defeat the fairies, but they hadn't counted on being attacked at the town line, or on the fact that the line was cursed. And now, they faced every day not knowing what had happened to Emma and the others after those chaotic moments when David was cornered by a malevolent fairy and Killian had jumped out of the car to help him.

David still didn't know _exactly_ what had happened, but it seemed like Henry had taken over the driving while Emma covered David and Killian by shooting bursts of white magic at the attacking fairies. But when she ducked back into the car to dodge another attack, Henry must have panicked and driven himself, Emma and Hope over the border. Killian sprinted behind them on foot after he made sure David was safe, but the rest of them had no idea what happened after that.

The fairies had continued to fight, but halfheartedly. Eventually, they disappeared.

They hadn't been seen in Storybrooke since.

David wanted so badly to let Snow believe that Emma, Killian, Henry, and Hope were together, safely laying low until the dark fairies and that witch they recruited were defeated or lost interest. But, like his daughter who took after him so closely, he had learned to trust his gut. And right now his gut told him that something was very wrong. That they'd played right into the fairies tiny hands by having Emma and her family leave Storybrooke.

And now they were in Boston, unaware of what was after Hope.

“But why would she post her name and number?” he asked Snow quietly. “Why would she be so careless if she were hiding? She could have changed her name, her whole identity. Emma knows how to do that. Right now, she's out in the open where anyone could find her.”

Snow's face fell a little, but not all the way. “Maybe because she knows they're not in danger there?” she replied. “Because Regina's theory worked, and there's no way for anyone to steal Hope's magic in the land _without_ magic.” Her voice broke a little when she said her granddaughter's name, and he knew her hopeful resolve was cracking. He felt rotten, so he did the only thing he could and wrapped her in another embrace, this one more comforting than celebratory.

After a few minutes, it was Snow who spoke. Her voice was clear and loud, but there were tears beneath the surface of it. “So, we still think it's a memory curse, right? That crossing the town line took their memories again?”

“It's the only thing that makes sense,” David said sadly.

“Okay, but that doesn't mean they got separated. I mean, they were in the car together.”

“Emma and _the kids_ were in the car together,” David reminded her sadly, guilt twisting his gut as he remembered the resolve on the face of his best friend as he ran away from his family in the yellow bug in order to come to David's aid.

“But after you were safe, Killian followed _right_ behind them,” Snow argued. “Even if they don't have their memories, they might have still ended up together. We always find each other, remember? You can't keep beating yourself up about this. Emma and Killian wouldn't want you to.”

“I know. Maybe it's okay. Maybe they're all together. I just...what do we do? We can't go to them unless Regina and Zelena can find a way to break the curse. We can't leave town.”

“Well,” Snow replied calmly. “Now we're certain that it's a memory curse. Maybe if Regina and Zelena can narrow their focus to breaking memory curses, they will have more success in fixing it so that we can leave. Then we can go get our family back.”

“Maybe,” David conceded reluctantly. “But, we've had the memory curse theory since week one. Regina didn't seem too optimistic about being able to break it without the curse caster being here. And she didn't think that she could create protection against it without Gold here to share all the work he'd done way back when.”

He hated the way the tears sprung to Snow's eyes. But, Snow being Snow, she just nodded her head and jutted out her chin with her characteristic resolve. “Well, then, in the meantime, we'll just call Boston bail bonds person Emma Swan. We'll warn her, tell her to be extra careful.”

“Snow...” David had about seventeen arguments on the tip of his tongue about why that didn't make sense. But when his wife looked at him with those hopeful green eyes, none of them seemed to matter.

“Okay,” he replied, sighing. “We'll call. As soon as we figure out what the hell we're going to say.”

 

Monday morning came early for Emma. She'd barely slept at all, even after Hope finally settled down and snuggled sleepily against her in Emma's bed. The little girl seemed to find a few hours of restful peace, but Emma was too stressed and heartsick to sleep.

The nightmares were back and worse than ever. Emma shuddered to herself, and her stomach twisted as she remembered seeing Hope's near-catatonic state while suffering from whatever terror was in her mind.

Emma's children had been sick before with all the usual childhood illnesses, and there was a certain helplessness that all parents experienced when they had a sick child. But usually, you could give them medicine, keep them warm...do something to at least feel like you were helping. With Hope facing the return of these nightmares, Emma felt like there was NOTHING she could do to make it better.

She resolved to call Dr. Li as soon as office hours began to see if she could move up their next appointment. They had barely scratched the surface of the subject of Hope's dreams when they first met the psychologist, but maybe she could find a way to get the little girl to open up more in their next session.

Emma was also fairly certain that Hope's worries about Killian's injury must have contributed to her nighttime anxiety. Maybe after Hope saw that he was okay, when she'd had the opportunity to give him a hug or joke with him, that fear would go away.  

As she laid there awake with Hope breathing steadily against her side, she tried to calm herself and allowed her mind to wander.

Emma grew up without parents, and the families she lived with never cared enough to come to her at night and comfort her when she was scared.  Since having Henry, Emma had become a much lighter sleeper, listening for every whimper or cry and going to him, and later Hope, when they needed her. When Henry was very small, she'd always wanted to bring him back to bed with her and Neal when he'd had a bad dream, but Neal didn't allow it, making the excuse that it would create bad sleep habits for the boy. But Emma knew deep down that there was a selfishness to Neal, one that didn't fully go away even after he'd had a child. The bed was _his_ and so was Emma, and he didn't want to share them at night, not even with Henry.

After Neal died, Emma let Henry sleep in her bed for months so that they could cling to each other and grieve together. After Hope was born, Emma never denied the little girl comfort when she needed it, even as exhausting as it was being single parent. She loved her kids with her whole heart, and she'd be damned if she didn't let them know that every second of their lives, especially when they were afraid.

Her thoughts drifted back to Killian, and she wondered what it would be like if they were _together._ If he lived with them. If this were _their_ bed she was lying in instead of hers alone. She just knew, like she _just knew_ so many things about him, that if Hope cried out in fear, he would run to her room, scoop her up in his arms and bring her back to snuggle between them. She let herself fantasize about how magical it would be if he was there every night to help her comfort Hope with that preternatural ability he had to soothe the little girl. He was so wonderful with words. What kinds of fanciful and comforting stories would he tell Hope to get her mind off of her terrible dreams?

Emma finally gave up on trying to sleep a little after 5:30, and she went to the kitchen to start coffee. She was anxious for Dr. Li's office to open so that she could call and try to move up Hope's appointment, and she really hoped she'd hear from Killian soon about when they were discharging him.

In the meantime, she logged into her work email and started a to do list of everything she needed to check up on for the two outstanding skips they were tracking. She was going to have to tell Max that wouldn't be in today. She planned to let Hope skip school so that the girl could accompany her to pick up Killian, so the chances of her getting any meaningful work done were slim.

She felt guilty about that, and then she felt extra guilty when she saw that Max had sent an email over the weekend that he'd added her name and number to the business's modest Facebook page, so that clients and prospective clients could get in touch with her directly. In his note, he'd sounded proud and excited to have made the change. She felt awful about having to write him back that she needed the day off. She promised to call him later in the afternoon to check in and explain further.

Henry woke up around seven as usual and greeted her with a tired smile before sitting down to his bowl of cereal. Emma sat down at the table to keep him company and offered to let him skip school, too, since she and Hope were playing hooky to be with Killian.

“Hmm, pretty tempting,” he said thoughtfully.

“See,” Emma teased. “Don't ever try to tell me I'm not a cool mom.”

“I wouldn't dream of it!” he replied. “But I have a quiz in pre-calculus today that I don't want to miss. The teacher gives a different, harder quiz for kids that have to miss and do a make-up.”

“That's diabolical!” Emma gasped with feigned outrage.

“Tell me about it!”

Henry stood to gather his jacket and backpack. Before turning to leave, he asked Emma about Hope. “So, you're just going to let Hope sleep until she wakes up?”

“Yep, I figured she could use it. Sorry you won't get to see her.”

“That's okay. Just give her extra hugs for me.”

“I will,” Emma replied, her heart full and ready to burst with love for the incredible young man before her. “Can you spare one for your mom before you go?”

He rolled his eyes but complied, pulling her into a strong embrace. “She's going to be okay, Mom,” he said. “Seeing Killian today will help I bet.”

“I know, Kid,” she replied, releasing him so that he could head to school.

Hope finally padded out to join her shortly before eight, and Emma was sad to see that the little girl still carried an air of exhaustion and something that seemed like defeat.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, entering the kitchen and giving Emma's legs a perfunctory hug before she sat down at the table, slouching as if she carried the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders.

Emma poured some juice, prepared Hope's Cheerios, and brought them to the table. She sat down next to her daughter and rubbed the little girl's back gently.

“Hi, baby,” she said. “I'm sorry that was a tough night last night.”

“Yeah,” Hope said sadly. “Me too.”

“Do you want to talk about your bad dreams?”

“Not really,” Hope replied.

Emma decided to push a little harder this time given the intensity of the girl's terror the night before. “Are you sure, sweetie?” Sometimes it helps to talk things out. It makes them less scary.

Hope sighed in annoyance. “I don't know. It's hard to remember. It's like before, with the big bugs flying around me. It feels like they're sucking something out of my chest. I hate it. They won't go away.”

Emma kept pushing. “Was anyone else there this time? Me, or maybe Killian?”

“No, not this time. I was by myself. It was scary.” She scrunched up her adorable little face for a moment, then seemed to remember something. “Mom, is Killian home now? Can he come over for breakfast?” Hope asked excitedly.

“No, honey,” Emma replied carefully. “Remember he was hurt yesterday, and they took him to the hospital to get better.”

“Oh yeah, I remember,” Hope replied sadly.

“But,” Emma continued. “How would you like to skip school today and come with me to visit him and hopefully bring him home?”

Hope began to bounce up and down in her seat excitedly as she agreed that sounded like a great idea. Emma was thrilled to see that the prospect of an adventure and going to see Killian seemed to have banished the pall of sadness and worry that Hope's nightmares had cast.

For the rest of the morning, every five minutes Hope would ask Emma when they could go see Killian.

Around 8:45, Emma called Dr. Li's office and begged the receptionist to let her move up Hope's next appointment to earlier in the week. They'd had a cancellation for Wednesday morning, and Emma gratefully accepted the slot.

 Killian finally texted them just after nine that the doctors had been by, and that they were releasing him around noon. She told him that they'd be down shortly to spend the rest of the morning with him and take him home.

Hope bounced around excitedly as Emma made preparations to go. The child was her eager accomplice as, per Killian's instructions, Emma retrieved his keys from his messenger bag and entered his apartment to get him some things he'd asked for.

As Emma found the gym bag he'd mentioned at the bottom of his very neat closet, Hope poked around his sparse bedroom.

Emma went to the tall chest of drawers and opened them in search of the sweats he'd requested. She found a T-shirt, underwear (boxer briefs, she noted with approval, not that she was supposed to be approving things like that) and socks. After thinking for a moment, she grabbed a casual, long-sleeved button down shirt from a hanger in his closet. She thought that a button down might be easier for him to put on and take off with his injured ribs. Although, she also mused to herself that button down shirts couldn't have been particularly easy at any time for a man with only one hand.

Hope continued to explore the bedroom, rifling through a change dish and a small wooden box on a low dresser.

“He doesn't have a lot of things,” the little girl commented.

“Well, honey, he hasn't lived here very long, so maybe he's planning to buy more stuff for this apartment.” As she folded the clothes neatly and placed them in the bag, she continued absently, “Plus, he doesn't have kids, so he doesn't need nearly as much stuff as we do.”

Hope didn't reply to that, and Emma looked down in time to see that the little girl was staring at the floor with a furrowed brow. She was either concentrating or annoyed, Emma couldn't tell which, and she didn't have time to delve in further. She headed into Killian's small but neat bathroom and gathered the toiletries he'd requested before retrieving Hope and heading back to their own apartment.

By ten, they were parking in a pay lot near Mass General. Killian had insisted that he didn't need anything besides his clothes and toiletries, but on a whim, Emma stopped in the Dunkin Donuts next to the lot and picked him up a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. She hoped that if they were releasing him, it meant his nausea had abated. She hated to think of him having been stuck with only hospital food for the past fifteen hours.

Emma found her way back to his room, holding Hope's hand tightly so that the little girl would walk quickly. Children of patients were allowed to visit, and Emma wasn't worried about anyone questioning them, but she did want to protect the young child from seeing too many sick or injured people on their walk.

Just before they reached his room, Emma stopped and reminded Hope that Killian might look a little hurt and tired, but that he was going to be absolutely fine.

“Okay, Mom, I get it,” Hope replied impatiently, bouncing on her feet and pulling Emma along.

When they reached his door, Emma peeked her head in and knocked, grateful that he was in a private room. “Good morning!” she called as cheerfully as she could.

He was sitting up in bed, looking bored and a little tired, but no worse for wear save for the small bruise on his brow. When she saw him, she felt a huge smile of happiness and relief spread across her face. She didn't even bother trying to suppress it.

When he smiled back at her it was with gratitude and a healthy dose of knowing charm, but his face softened as his eyes dropped down to take in the little girl at Emma's side.

“Good morning, Lady Hope,” he said happily. “Thank you so much for coming to rescue me!”

Hope smiled shyly and giggled at his joke, but then her face fell a little as she looked around the room. She seemed to take in the sight of the complicated bed, Killian in a hospital gown, and all the weird machines and tubes against the wall. The little girl had never been in a hospital room before, and Emma realized quickly that seeing Killian in a place for sick people had thrown her. Emma put Killian's gym bag down on the floor and placed the Dunkin Donuts bag and coffee on the tray table that was down by the foot of Killian's bed.

Just as Hope's little lip began to quiver, Emma picked her up to comfort her. Killian looked at them worriedly as Emma prepared to cradle and soothe Hope, whose emotions had clearly caught up with her. But, instead of throwing her arms around Emma's neck as Emma had expected, Hope reached out toward Killian in the bed, wanting to go to him instead.

Emma turned to him, and he reached out his arms in return. She noticed that he'd put on his usual brace and hook once again in preparation for going home. Still, she worried about his ribs.

“Killian, are you sure? I don't want her to hurt you.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, shaking his head. “I've carried crates of fake tea heavier than her.” Despite the joke, his voice was thick with emotion, and Emma saw the sheen of tears in his eyes as she carefully handed Hope to him. He took her and placed her sideways across his lap, supporting her back with his left arm.

The little girl seemed to know to be careful. She gingerly placed her arms around his shoulders and hugged him gently, sweetly patting his right shoulder with her hand, as if to soothe him. He hugged her back, closing his eyes for a moment and seeming to just take her in, accepting the comfort she was offering and holding her in his strong arms to let her know that he was still whole. That he was there for her in return.

“I'm glad you're okay, Killian,” Hope whispered.

“Thanks, bean. Me too,” he replied softly into her hair.

Emma gasped quietly at his use of the nickname, one that she had used herself just yesterday after not saying it for years. Moreover, Emma had thought she was prepared to see them together again. She had known that, after the traumas each of them had suffered the previous night, they would be thrilled to be reunited. But this was more than she'd expected. The relief and emotion that radiated from them could only be matched by that between a parent and a child.

Emma caught herself shaking her head again in wonder. _How could this be, when they'd only known him for a few weeks?_

After another minute of quiet cuddles with Hope, Killian managed to break himself from his reverie enough to settle the little girl on the bed next to him. He thanked Emma and Hope profusely for the sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich, and Emma moved the tray table closer to him so that he could eat. As he ate, he gave her an update on his night in the hospital (not very restful) and his condition (much improved, though he had a headache and his ribs hurt when he moved.)

As Killian talked, he dutifully broke off pieces of croissant and egg from his sandwich for Hope to eat. Emma had brought her a sippy cup full of apple juice, and the little girl settled in for a nice second breakfast, giggling and snorting as Killian regaled her with horror stories about the “eggs made of rubber” that the hospital had tried to force feed him that morning.

Emma continued to watch them with something like awe. Hope's eyes sparkled with delight and laughter as Killian cracked jokes and told her funny stories. As for Killian, he looked so happy and energetic that you'd never have known he'd been loaded into an ambulance, deathly pale and unconscious, just the night before.

They were just finishing the remnants of breakfast when Dr. Okonedo popped in the room holding a folder, presumably with Killian's discharge paperwork. Emma tensed up, wondering if they'd get in trouble for having Hope in the hospital bed despite Killian's injuries.

“Hello again Mr. Jones, Miss Emma,” the doctor said cheerfully. “And who might you be?” she said kindly to Hope.

“Hope,” the little girl replied shyly.

“My daughter,” Emma added. “I hope it's okay that she's here. She and Killian are kind of BFF's, as my teenage son would say.”

“Of course it's okay!” the doctor replied. “I can tell that Mr. Jones looks healthier already thanks to his friend bringing him breakfast! I know that the food here is not good.” At that, she wrinkled her nose in mock disgust and stuck her tongue out. Hope rewarded her with a genuine giggle.

“So,” Dr. Okonedo continued, getting back to business. “I have Mr. Jones' release paperwork and instructions that I want to go over with you.”

Emma stood from her chair and stepped next to the doctor, looking down at the printouts the woman had placed on the tray table. She listened carefully as the kind doctor reminded them of the concussion symptoms and instructed them to call if Killian's worsened or did not improve after three days.

She also instructed them to ice Killian's bruised ribs for the next two days, and that he should take acetaminophen or ibuprofen for the pain.

Emma assured Dr. Okonedo that they would follow all the instructions and call if Killian took a turn for the worse. Killian and Emma both thanked the doctor sincerely.

Before she left, Dr. Okonedo said to Hope, “Young Miss Hope, perhaps you can pick out some good movies to watch with Mr. Jones while he rests and recovers.”

Hope gave the kind woman a comically exaggerated thumbs up and said, “Yep. We're going to watch 'Zootopia!'”

“An excellent choice!” the doctor replied before winking and heading out the door.

Between the doctor's cheerfulness, Killian and Hope's reunion, and the fact that he was now free to go home, the morning had taken on a happier, more festive air than Emma would have believed possible. Although she knew she had challenges in front of her, she was back to feeling like, as long as she had Henry, Hope, _and Killian_ with her, she could overcome anything.

“Okay, Hope,” she said, getting down to the business of leaving. “We need to let Killian change so that he can get out of here.” She looked at him shyly for a moment. “Do you want us to wait in the hall or...?”

“Actually, I can just change in the washroom,” he replied. “I just may need a hand getting out of bed. I was up once already this morning, but I'm still a little bit stiff.”

“Sure,” Emma replied. She went to the side of the bed, picked up Hope, and placed the little girl in the room's only chair. Then she offered Killian her arm as he began to swing his legs around to the side of the bed. He winced in pain as he moved, and Emma winced in sympathy.

He stood with her assistance but seemed to have his balance, so Emma released him briefly to grab his gym bag. She took his left arm again (he held his gown closed in the back with his right hand) and helped him walk to the bathroom, where she opened the door and turned on the light.

When she looked up at Killian, she saw that his cheeks were tinged pink and he was looking at the floor, apparently having been hit with a wave of embarrassment at his situation.

“Hey,” she said, squeezing his arm and leaning in so that he was forced to meet his gaze. “This is what we're here for, okay?”

That earned her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and a small nod as he entered the bathroom and closed the door.

While they waited, Emma let Hope fiddle with the TV remote as she cleaned up and discarded the bag and napkins from breakfast.

After just a couple of minutes, Killian emerged from the bathroom wearing his clean sweats and the blue button down shirt, unbuttoned with no T-shirt underneath.

“That was fast. Ready to go, Killian?” Hope asked happily from her chair.

“Just about, lass,” he replied. He turned to Emma and said sheepishly, “So the button down shirt was quite easy to get on, but when I looked down and started to button it, I felt a bit dizzy.”

Emma nodded. “Okay, well, that's the concussion,” she said pragmatically. “Was it severe, like you felt like you were going to pass out?”

He shook his head. “No, it was mild. Just uncomfortable.” He paused, and his cheeks turned charmingly pink once again as he indicated his open shirt with his hook. “I wonder if you might assist me?”

“Oh of course!” Emma replied, then felt her own cheeks warm as she stood before him and took hold of each side of his shirt. Before she began buttoning, she caught a glimpse of the bruising on his left side and couldn't help but open his shirt more widely to take a look. Her heart sank to see that his ribs were covered in ugly, purplish blue bruises. Strangely, for just an instant, she had a strong impulse to simply place her hands on the injury and _will_ them to heal. Like magic. What the hell was she thinking?

When she realized that she was staring, she quickly looked up at him and found him looking down at her. “Not pretty, I know,” he said.

“I don't know about _that_ ,” Emma teased, gathering herself and making a show of looking admiringly at the rest of him, all the lean muscle and dark chest hair that she'd just barely started to explore last Friday night on his couch.

That earned her an appreciative laugh from him, and she mentally patted herself on the back for making him smile in the midst of his tendency toward self pity. Now, as she carefully buttoned his shirt, what remained between them was the usual haze of sexual tension balanced nicely by the trust and affection they'd miraculously built in just a few weeks of acquaintance.

Their drive home was uneventful. Hope chatted happily from the backseat, and Killian listened to her carefully, engaging her with his usual keen interest and charming humor.

Getting both Hope and Killian up three flights of stairs was a challenge for Emma. Hope begged to be carried but had to settle for holding Emma's left hand as Emma kept her right on Killian's arm for support. He took the steps slowly, one at a time, wincing a bit but making it to the top without needing to stop and rest.

Emma led them inside and plunked her and Killian's bags down on the floor by the door. Killian stood in the doorway for a moment, hesitating. She saw him look back over his shoulder at his own door across the hall. He scratched behind his ear, and she rolled her eyes at how obvious his 'embarrassment' tell was.

“Killian,” she said sternly. “You're spending the day here. On our couch. It's more comfortable than yours, and you need us to take care of you.” She paused, gesturing to Hope who was standing next to her with her arms crossed and looking at him with an expression of determination that mirrored her mother's.

“If you need something from your apartment,” she continued, “we can get it for you. Now come in.”

Killian rolled his eyes, but he was smiling happily as he admitted defeat and sat down on the couch.

“Feet up!” Emma instructed.

Killian sighed. “As you wish.” He toed off his shoes and carefully swung his legs up onto the couch.

Emma grinned and went to the kitchen to assemble some snacks and drinks. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Hope hand Killian the remote and then climb carefully onto his lap. She settled herself between his right leg and the back of the couch and leaned comfortably against his shoulder as he placed his arm around her. Killian studied the remote for a moment, found the Netflix button and turned on the movie.

Emma marveled again at the easy rhythm the two of them had together as she quietly set some cups of water and a bowl of orange slices onto the coffee table. Killian smiled at her gratefully, and she winked in reply.

She then settled down at the dining table with her laptop to catch up on work. As she worked, she couldn't help but look up every few minutes to smile at the pair on the couch, who were the picture of contentment in spite of how they each had suffered the night before.

About an hour into the movie, both Hope and Killian were sleeping soundly, and Emma was grateful that they both were making up for sleep lost the night before. She frowned as she remembered Hope's terror from the previous night, and wondered if she would get a chance to have a moment alone with Killian so that she could update him.

After she responded to emails and checked on her outstanding traces, she called Max to catch up. They'd gotten a tip on the location of one of their outstanding skips, and Max offered to take the stakeout that evening given that she was taking care of her sick friend. She thanked him and promised beyond a doubt that she'd take the next few late nights. After the call, she noticed that she had a voicemail from earlier that afternoon, around the time they'd been driving home with Killian. It was an unfamiliar number with an unfamiliar area code, and Emma figured that it might be a tip or a prospective client, given that her direct number was now on the business's Facebook page.

She clicked the 'play' button.

“Emma,” the male voice said. “My name is David Nolan. I live in a town called Storybrooke, Maine. You may not know me, or may not remember me, but I know you, and it would be in your best interests to listen to me. There may be a threat out there to you and your family, somebody watching all of you, but particularly Hope. I can't tell you any more than that because I don't know who, or what this threat will look like where you are.”

He paused, and she heard exasperation creep into his voice as he continued the message, “I know that this is coming out wrong, and you're probably going to think I'm a crazy person, or that _I'm_ the threat. But I had to try. I'm sorry if this puts you on edge, but you need to be careful. If anything seems weird or wrong in your life, then it probably  _is_ wrong.”

The voice paused again before continuing. “BUT, if you've met Killian Jones, even if you don't remember him, he's one of the good guys. Trust your gut feelings about him. About everything.” He seemed to take a breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of emotion, “We miss you, all of you. We can't wait to have you home again.”

Emma pulled the phone away from her and stared at it in disbelief. She replayed the message. She knew that she should consider the guy on the phone to be a threat. The call was probably meant to terrorize her for some reason, but 'David Nolan' had just sounded so sincere and so  _nice_.

Her heart sank as she considered the other shocking piece of information that he'd imparted: that Killian was involved somehow. If the guy who made the call was a threat, and he was telling her to trust Killian, clearly Killian was part of the threat as well, right? Was there some elaborate conspiracy against her family that involved this gorgeous man moving in across the hall and worming his way into her heart, into Hope's heart?

Hope.

Emma looked at her daughter, sleeping peacefully next to their friend. She felt sick to her stomach, torn between wanting to rush over there and pull her daughter away from Killian and feeling like it was ridiculous to discount their entire relationship with him because of a phone call from stranger.

Heart-racing, she opened her computer and searched for a David Nolan in Storybrooke, Maine. There were, unsurprisingly, plenty of hits on the name “David Nolan,” but after fifteen minutes of searching every map website she knew, she couldn't find a single reference to a place called Storybrooke in Maine.

She slumped in her chair at a complete loss and steeped in worry as she watched Hope and Killian sleep.

 

Henry went straight home after school and entered the apartment to find his mother scowling at her laptop. Killian and Hope were dozing comfortably on the couch.

“Hey, Mom,” he greeted Emma, placing his backpack down on a chair.

“Hey, Kid,” she replied. She looked tired and stressed, and he wished that he could help.

“So, I guess everything went okay with Killian? Glad to see they're catching up on some sleep.”

“Yeah, me too,” Emma said.

“You should go grab a nap yourself, Mom. Last night was pretty rough,” he told her.

“I know, Kid. But they're going to wake up soon, and I still have some work to do here.”

He looked at her with concern. Her eyes weren't just tired, they were distracted. Maybe it was still just her worries about Hope's nightmares, but he could see that her mind was really troubled.

“Mom, it's going to be okay.”

She looked up at him, and he felt like she was really focusing on him for the first time since he'd arrived home.

“It is, Henry. I know. I'm just...trying to figure everything out.”

“I get it. I'll be in my room if you want to talk.”

“Thanks, Kid.”

Henry grabbed a glass of milk from the kitchen, picked up his backpack again and went into his and Hope's room.

He sat down at his desk and opened his laptop. He stared at the keyboard for a moment, his mind wandering back to the previous evening and the visit from Mrs. Xavier.

When Henry was younger, he had loved stories. Old fairy tales were his favorite, even ones like Hansel and Gretel, with its evil witch that probably scared most kids his age. He loved the idea that a couple of clever children could have outsmarted an evil hag.

Yesterday, Mrs. X had reminded him of another fairy tale witch, and now, he couldn't shake the idea that his bad feeling about her was connected to what had happened to Killian. To what had been happening to Hope.

He shook his head at himself. He was seventeen years old. He was supposed to be thinking about college and part-time jobs and helping his mom. He was no longer a ten year old kid prone to flights of fancy. Maybe it was even cruel of him to be thinking about an old lonely woman like she was a witch.

Still, the feeling nagged at him as he did his online research for his History paper. Eventually, he gave up and started entering some different search terms into his Internet browser. He was looking for a needle in a haystack, and he wasn't even sure what the needle looked like, but he had to try. He was good at research, and he had to do something to help his mom. To help Hope.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and for all the wonderful feedback over the course of this story. This is going to start heading towards the finish line and will probably end up being ten chapters, plus possibly an epilogue.


	8. Chapter 8

The dark fairies did not summon Xanathusa back into the Dream Realm to meet again, and she was grateful for that. She wouldn't have been able to hold her tongue at their sneering derision and contempt for what they would call her failure to fully remove the pirate from the situation. It _had_ been terrible luck that Jones had been found so quickly and hadn't been hurt worse. The disorientation curse she put on him could very well have led to his death if he'd fallen the right way and broken his neck.

It really was a pity.

So, the fairies might be angry with her, but the truth was that they were also monitoring the receptacle in which the girl's magic was being collected. They knew as well as she did that they were close to finished with extracting what they needed.

It mattered not that the pirate was back in the building, and that the girl had shown herself capable of pulling him into her dreams. With the failsafe Xanathusa had created when she'd been in Emma's apartment, she could extract the rest of Hope Swan-Jones' magic in just one more night.

The previous evening, she'd preyed on young Henry's kindness in order to gain access to her broken conduit, which masqueraded as a simple silken butterfly. A gift from a kind old woman to an innocent young girl. Once there, with the unwitting help of that special little girl, Xanathusa hadn't just repaired the conduit. She had also added to it a curse that she could trigger from the Dream Realm.

It was her own special version of a sleeping curse. When activated, it would keep the girl asleep and trapped in her nightmare, where Xanathusa and the fairies could extract the rest of the magic through the conduit without risk of the girl waking up too soon.  

The conduit was very special, a little piece of magic that worked in a land _without_ magic. When properly activated by Hope's dreams, the conduit pulled the girl's power from her physical body in the real world and channeled it through a special portal to the receptacle in the fairies' realm.

Xanathusa really was a genius, she thought to herself. She was as proud of the conduit and the failsafe curse as she was of any magic she'd created over the course of her long life.  She had finally surpassed the glory of her mentor, Morpheus.  With the portion of the girl's power she'd be rewarded with, she could finally take revenge on all of her enemies across all the realms.  

The plan still had risks. Once the failsafe curse was active and the girl's family realized that they couldn't wake her, they would leave the apartment and bring her to a doctor. She would be disconnected from the conduit for good, and her magic would no longer be pulled into it. But, because there was so little magic remaining, Xanathusa hoped that in the time it took them to realize the girl couldn't be woken up, she'd be able to extract enough for the fairies.

What happened to the girl after that was not her concern. Xanathusa supposed that the sleeping curse could be broken at some point. Indeed, the memory curse she and the fairies had cast at the Storybrooke town line was showing signs of cracking. True love had a tendency to do that. And once true love was combined with the truest belief in magic, or in miracles if one preferred, then a simple kiss could break any curse.

Fortunately, the Swan-Jones family wasn't there yet. That kind of belief still eluded them.

Xanathusa smiled coldly to herself, secure in her own belief that that they weren't going to find theirs in time.

 

Killian awoke to peace, quiet, and warmth. Later, he would recall it as a last moment of comfort and contentment before the tumult began and their lives were truly turned upside down.

Most of the warmth he felt radiated from the small girl nestled against his side, asleep with her little head on his shoulder. Her breathing was steady and her face was peaceful, mirroring the state of his own heart in that moment. Her golden curls were slightly damp with sweat, and they stuck to the sides of her tiny round face. She was an angel.

He had been dreaming about her; about all of them. They had been standing at the bow of a ship, an old ship like the one on which he worked but that felt even more ancient. It also felt familiar. The sun was setting over the horizon, and the four of them stood together admiring the rich colors. Emma was standing close to him, her back pressed against his front. The scent of her hair in his nose. His right arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, and he moved his palm up and down slowly, lovingly stroking her side. Henry was to their right and a step in front of them, staring at the view with concentration as if he was searching for something.

Hope stood to Killian's left, gripping his hook in her tiny hand. Not _his_ hook though. In this dream, he wore the other one. The one he'd worn in that dream from days ago, the dream he seemed to have shared with Hope. This hook would have looked deadly had it not been for the bright pink rubber stopper stuck on the end of its sharp tip.

In the dream, he'd turned away from the beautiful view of the sunset and looked down at his daughter's face. (In this dream she was his daughter again. Because of course she was.) She had turned to look up at him, a sweet smile on her face. Her bright blue eyes were shining.

“I'm right here, Daddy,” she had said.

As he came fully awake, he looked down slightly to see that Hope was awake now too, looking at him with that same sweet smile. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether it was the Hope from his dream or the real Hope who had spoken.

Maybe it doesn't matter, he thought recklessly.

“You guys finally up?” Emma asked from across the room at the dining table.

He turned his head to watch her stand and walk over to them. She smiled, but even in his drowsy state, he noticed with concern that it didn't reach her eyes.

She bent down and plucked Hope from against his side. He thought he felt the girl protest a little, but her mother still pulled her away. Killian thought that perhaps he'd overstayed his welcome or gotten too comfortable.

He turned to swing his legs down and put his feet in the floor, and the motion sent waves of agony through his left side. He grimaced in pain.

“Take it easy, there,” Emma said. “Go slow.”

“Aye, thanks,” he said. “Apologies for falling asleep for so long.”

“No need to apologize,” Emma replied, her back was turned to him as she brought Hope down the hall to the bathroom.

Her curt responses were causing his worry to grow. What had happened in the last hour or two to change her mood?

He knew that she could be skittish about intimacy. Maybe the act of bringing him home from the hospital and having him recover on the couch with Hope had been a step too far for her. Now she was backing away again. It hurt, but he understood that was her way. He would give her the space she needed.

He started to pull on his shoes in preparation for leaving when she and Hope returned from down the hall.

“Where are you going?” Emma asked sternly. “We're supposed to ice your ribs, and I was going to make dinner for everyone.”

He looked up from his seat on the couch and searched her face, trying to interpret the mixed messages.

“Emma, I've indulged in too much of your kindness already,” he said quietly. “I'm perfectly capable of icing my ribs and feeding myself across the hall. Really, it's okay.”

She looked at him with indecision in her face.

Ultimately, Hope made the decision for them. “Mommy, Killian has to stay. We're _supposed_ to be watching him! We told the doctor we would!” Her tone matched the stern one that Emma had just used on him, and he failed to suppress a smile at how similar the two ladies were.

“Right. We did,” Emma agreed, her face softening a little. “Stay there, I'm going to grab the ice packs and get the water boiling for pasta.” She paused, then smiled slightly and rolled her eyes. “I'm mixing it up a little. Ravioli tonight instead of plain spaghetti,” she added self-deprecatingly.

“Sounds wonderful,” Killian replied with real sincerity.

“Hope, sweetie, go check on Henry and tell him we're eating in 20 minutes. Can you do that?”

“Aye aye, mom!” Hope replied. She shot Killian a knowing grin before bouncing off past the kitchen and down the hall towards the kids' room.

Emma rifled through the freezer for a moment and returned with a soft ice pack typically used to treat sports injuries, plus the fateful bag of frozen peas he'd used to treat her wound several nights ago.

She brought them over to the couch and sat down next to him, leaving a good half a foot of space between them.

“So, apparently I only have one real ice pack,” she said apologetically. “But as you know, I'm a big fan of frozen peas.”

He chuckled a little and started to unbutton his shirt from the bottom.

She watched him, and he could tell she felt awkward.

“Do you need--” she began.

“No, I have it. The dizziness I was feeling before when I looked down seems to be gone,” he replied. He swiftly unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way and reached out to take the ice pack and bag of peas from her.

She seemed unsure again for a beat but then made up her mind.

“Uh uh,” she said, shaking her head. “You lay back, and I'll do it.”

She seemed sure, so he accepted the help. He swung his legs back up onto the couch and reclined. She carefully laid each icy cold bag onto his bruised left side. Despite her cold demeanor since he'd awoken, her touch was warm and tender. He tried to keep his heart rate steady, but it naturally quickened when she was this close to him.

She finished setting the ice packs after following his directions to where the pain was worst. As she pulled away, her left hand brushed the hair in the center of his chest, and he took in a sharp breath of air that had nothing to do with pain.

Her eyes met his for just a moment. In them he saw fear, worry, and confusion. She looked at his face like she was searching for an answer. He did his best to give her one, letting his guard down completely and hoping that she could see the truth of his feelings for her. That she had enchanted him. That he adored her. That he would never, _ever_ do anything to hurt her or her children.

Emma didn't reward him with an answer about whether it had been enough. Instead, she simply gave him a small smile and nod and returned to the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Dinner was fine. Henry and Emma were both uncharacteristically quiet, but Hope more than made up for it with her chatter about their day. Apparently, she also still had a lot of questions about the hospital and his ambulance ride the night before. He did his best to answer her in non-scary ways.

When everyone was finished, Hope grew quieter as well. Killian noticed her stealing glances at the ever darkening windows.

“Mom,” she said softly. “I don't want to go to bed.”

Emma sighed. “It's not quite bedtime yet, sweetie,” she replied. “But you will have to go to bed sometime. It will be okay. How about tonight you just sleep with me again?”

Hope nodded, but doubt still clouded her face.

“Did she have another nightmare?” Killian asked.

Emma nodded tersely. “Yeah, last night. Not fun.”

Killian felt his heart twist with grief. “I'm very sorry, little lass,” he said to Hope.

The little girl was starting at the floor. Her brow was furrowed. “Thanks,” she replied quietly.

Killian glanced up at Emma, who was staring at Hope with heartbreaking love and worry, looking every bit as helpless as he felt.

He looked back at Hope, who raised her eyes to meet his. “I'm sure your mum will keep the nightmares away tonight, lass. Nobody is stronger or braver than her.”

Hope shrugged. “That _is_ true, I guess.”

Emma scoffed in mock indignation. “You guess?” she chided Hope. “I'm the toughest mother around!”

“Oh my god, Mom,” Henry scolded, rolling his eyes at Emma's terrible joke.

They all laughed, and everything was okay for a little while.

Killian finally took his leave not long after dinner. Hope was back to being crestfallen at the prospect of having to go to bed soon. She gave Killian a long hug goodbye. She didn't seem to want to let him go. Emma gently pulled Hope away and sent her off with Henry so that he could help her get ready for bed. The little girl's eyes were sad as she gave Killian a final tiny wave goodnight. He smiled, winked, and waved back, but his heart was weighted down with worry for her.

“I'll walk you back across the hall,” Emma told Killian when the kids had gone.

He nodded, guessing that he was about to find out what had been bothering her.

He unlocked his apartment, and she followed him inside, where they both stood near the entrance to the kitchen.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asked her, scratching behind his ear nervously. He had a feeling that she wasn't going to be making any small talk.

She shook her head and pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans.

“Do you know a man named David Nolan?” she said. Her face was dark and unreadable.

He searched his memories. “Nolan? No, I don't think so,” he finally replied.

“You don't _think_ so?” she challenged curtly.

“No. I don't know anyone by that name,” he retorted, getting frustrated. “What is going on, Emma? You've been short with me since I woke up this afternoon.”

By way of a response, she unlocked her phone and opened her voicemails. She put the phone on speaker, pushed play on the latest message, and Killian Jones heard the kind and sincere sounding voice of David Nolan.

After it finished, he just stared at her, bewildered.

“I got it this afternoon,” she said matter-of-factly. “Why would he say that I should trust _you_ if you don't know him?”

“Swan,” he replied. “I have no idea. You must believe that I don't know anything about this.” He paused, considering the worst part of the message. “Why would anyone want to threaten Hope?”

Emma's cold demeanor cracked for a moment, and tears sprung to her eyes. Instinctively, he reached for her, just grazing her arm with his hand before she took another step back and shook her head.

“Swan. Emma,” he said, hearing a pleading note creep into his voice. “You have to know that I wouldn't have anything to do with something nefarious. I would never let anyone hurt Hope.”

She studied him. “I _don't_ know that,” she replied. “You were the one who told me about your checkered past after you got out of the navy. How do I know you're not involved in some creepy kidnapping ring?” Her voice raised with a slightly hysterical note at the end of her question.

He felt sick at the realization that she didn't trust him.

“So that's it?” he said after a moment. “You've just decided, because of a voicemail from a stranger, that I'm a bad guy?” His voice was raspy and thick. He knew that he would break down and cry if she turned and left. If she took Hope and Henry away.

Her expression softened the tiniest bit, but her tone was firm. “I don't know, Killian. Put yourself in my shoes and think about hearing that message. I have to protect them.”

“Then let me help,” he pleaded. “Let's find out who this man is together and figure out if there really is some kind of threat.” He paused for a moment as a thought occurred to him. “Do you think this could have anything to do with Hope's nightmares?”

Emma looked at him skeptically. “What? Hope's nightmares are about stress and anxiety about all our moving around and my crazy life. Why would they have anything to do with this weird voicemail?”

“I don't know,” he replied. Something was bothering him, nagging at him. Something he felt like he should have understood. _Did_ he know David Nolan? There had been something familiar about the voice on the message. Something that had triggered warmth and trust. Certainly not fear. And Nolan was from _Maine_ , of all places. The place where things had started to get weird for Killian.

Finally, he remembered his nightmare, the one he had shared with Hope but about which he'd never told Emma. Did he already _know_ what the threat to the little girl was?

All of the events of the past several weeks started swirling around in his mind begging to be arranged in an orderly sequence, but he couldn't manage to do it.

Emma was still looking at him warily, but there was an undercurrent of hope in her eyes. He knew that she wanted to trust him.

He decided to try being honest, to see if she'd be willing to help him make some sense out of his thoughts.

“Emma, have you ever been to Maine?” he asked.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Uh, of course. It's basically the next state up if you don't count a little bit of New Hampshire coast. Everyone's been there. I just took the kids up there for a beach weekend about six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks?” Killian replied quietly. It was too much of a coincidence.

“Yeah. Why?”

He took breath before he replied. “Six weeks ago I found myself alone on a wooded state highway in Maine. I had been camping, but someone stole my gear. I managed to hitchhike to the bus station, and I still had cash in my wallet, so I bought a ticket back to Boston.”

“Okay, it's a little weird that we were both in Maine at the same time,” Emma admitted. “But it was summer. Lots of people go to Maine in the summer. That's why they call it freakin' 'Vacationland.' Where are you going with this?”

“I don't know,” he replied honestly. “I just feel like some of these events might be connected. Hope's dreams, the message from a town in Maine and us both _being_ in Maine at the same time shortly before we met. And since we've met I've had this feeling of...” He trailed off, worried that she would scoff and turn away at his next words.

But she stood her ground. She even took half a step closer. “Feeling of what?”

“I feel like I know you, all three of you. Since that day Henry dropped the poster on the stairs, I keep having feelings of deja vu about you.”

She was listening to him intently, and he thought he saw fear and something that looked like guilt cross her features.

“Have you felt anything like that with me?” he asked hopefully after studying her expression.

She looked at the floor as she answered. “I don't know. Maybe. That happens with people sometimes, though, deja vu. But if we knew each other before, why wouldn't we remember?”

“I don't know,” he replied. There were other pieces to the puzzle that he needed to show her. There had to be a way to make sense of it. He pursed his lips and thought for a moment then said, “Wait here.”

He knew she would be impatient to get back to the kids, so he hurried to retrieve the item he needed from his bedroom. When he returned, he held out his hand and showed her the simple but fine band of platinum.

“A ring?” she asked.

“Aye. I was wearing it on the ring finger of my hand when I was in Maine.”

“So?” she said skeptically. “You've never worn a ring before?”

“Of course I have. In fact, I have a couple of menacing and ostentatious rings from my more colorful days after I left the navy. I wore an earring back then as well, and a chain with a skull hanging from it. All of my jewelry is in a box on my bureau. I have specific memories of acquiring each of those other pieces. But I _don't_ remember buying this ring.”

He paused and gathered his courage, because he risked scaring her off with his next words. “All I know for certain is that it's a wedding band.”

He looked into her eyes, willing her to believe him and to somehow understand, even though he didn't. Not all the way.

“Killian,” she said carefully. “What are you trying to say to me? That we were _married_ , you and I? That you _believe_ Hope when she says that you're her father?”

He had been too afraid to put all of it into words like that, but she had gone and said it for him. He felt tears in his eyes, and he had to take another deep breath before he spoke again.

“Aye,” he replied softly. “I suppose I am starting to wonder if that is indeed the truth. I know it sounds impossible. But what a lovely miracle it would be if it were true.”

Those words must have touched her, because sympathy graced her features for just a moment before she hardened again. “Killian,” she said. “You must know how crazy this sounds. Just because of a little girl's fantasy, and because you don't remember buying that ring.” She paused, seeming to come to a realization.

“Oh my god, Killian. These delusions could be symptoms from your concussion!” She suddenly looked concerned. “Maybe we should call Dr. Okonedo!”

Killian shook his head and looked her in the eyes, willing her to see his resolve. “I can imagine how it must sound,” he replied sadly. “But it's not the concussion. And I'm not crazy. There are too many things that just don't make sense.”

Emma sighed. “Okay, what else?”

“Well, for one thing, in Maine, my camping gear was stolen but I still had my wallet.”

She shrugged, because of course there were easy explanations for that.

“In my wallet,” he continued, “was a Massachusetts driver's license with my name and an address of an old apartment.”

“So?”

“Emma, I don't think I know how to drive.”

She actually burst out laughing at that one. He flinched, a little hurt.

“Killian,” she chided. “I'm sure you can drive. Or maybe you just got the license a long time ago and haven't driven in years or something. I don't think it proves anything.”

“I don't know. I just know that lately I've felt like there was a haziness to some of my memories. A false quality even.”

“Memories fade over time, Killian. Mine definitely have. Neither of us is a kid anymore.”

“Aye, true. But I remember the last six weeks with perfect clarity. After Maine, I returned to Boston and the dingy hotel in which I'd been living. I applied for and got my job, and I should have looked for an apartment in Southie or Dorchester, close to work. But for some reason, I came all the way here to Brighton, and I found this building. And then I met all of you.”

“What? So you think it was fate or destiny that you moved in across the hall from us?” she asked with a scoff. “Killian, I'm serious. You're scaring me. I think we should call the doctor.”

“Emma, I'm fine. Some of my memories are muddled, but it's not the concussion. There is something more complicated at work here. And now someone has called you with a warning saying that you know him but don't remember, and that you should know and trust me too. Emma, please, listen to your gut. You know we have a connection, all four of us. I've never felt anything like it, and I know that you feel it too.”

Emma bit her lip as she considered him. “How can that be true, though?” she said finally. “What you're suggesting is preposterous. If we had been together, if we had been a...family, why and _how_ would we not remember?”

“I don't know,” he said quietly.

“But you think Hope is your daughter.”

“I don't know.”

“What about Henry? Because for better or worse, I see Neal in him every single day, especially as he gets older. He's not yours.”

“Aye, I do know that he's not mine. But I feel the same devotion to him that I do to Hope, if that makes any sense.”

Emma shrugged, seeming to be at a complete loss, so Killian pressed on.

“And what _about_ Hope?” he said. “You once told me that you couldn't believe that, what's his name, Frank, could have produced a child like her. Tell me the truth, do you see any of him in her? Or do you see me?”

Her face gave away her answer even if she chose not to vocalize it.

Instead she replied, “Killian, we  _just_ met you. There's no question about that. I remember meeting you as clearly as I remember anything in my life. And you have a job and an apartment and a life and a _history_. None of that involved us until a few weeks ago.” She sighed before continuing. “Look, I care about you. So does Henry. Hope adores you. I'm glad that you're in our lives, and I want you to stay. Despite this crazy voicemail, I want to see the best in you.”

He smiled a little at that.

She sighed and went on, “So much as happened since we met. Hope's nightmares, your fall, now this voicemail...it's been a crazy few weeks. Maybe you're just exhausted, and your mind is having trouble making sense of things.”

She was sticking to logic and reason. Why shouldn't she? Still, he felt defeated. “Aye, that's probably it. I'm sorry, love. I realize how I must sound. I'm just emotional, and maybe I need more sleep.”

Relief washed over her features. He had given her an out, and he knew that she was going to take it.

“But I do promise you,” he went on before she could go, “I don't know anything about that message or any threat to Hope.”

She nodded, “Okay, we'll leave it for now. And if you're talking crazy again in the morning, I'm dragging you back to Mass General.”

He tried to force a sincere smile, but based on the sadness and worry in her eyes, he knew that he had failed.

“I'm sorry again, Swan. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

She moved to go then suddenly turned back to look at him. “Just for the sake of argument, say someone  _had_ messed with your memories, replaced real ones with fake ones, or whatever. If they went to such a level of detail that you remembered acquiring your other jewelry, why wouldn't they just give you a fake memory to explain how you got the wedding band too?”

He looked down at the ring he still clutched in his hand, then he shook his head. “I don't know,” he replied softly.

She nodded at him sadly and opened the door.

“Maybe they couldn't change that one,” he said suddenly, before she could depart.

Through a haze in the farthest reaches of his mind, he could see a rooftop at twilight. It was decorated with garlands of the prettiest flowers he'd ever seen. And standing in front of him, dressed in the most stunning dress of white lace, was Emma Swan.

“Maybe certain memories are simply irreplaceable,” he added quietly.

Something in his words must have touched her heart, because she gave him a small smile and her green eyes sparkled with tears.

“Goodnight, Killian. I'll come by to check on you tomorrow,” she said thickly. She left and closed the door behind her.

 

Emma stood in the hallway gathering herself and trying to control her emotions. She did not want the kids to see her cry.

He was crazy, right? He was saying crazy things. And he was most likely part of a plot against her and her family. That was the only reason why the _other_ crazy man had left her a voicemail saying to trust him. It had to be. She couldn't let herself believe otherwise. She couldn't let her guard down. There was too much at stake.

Still, when she came in and found that Henry was quietly reading to Hope on the couch, Emma stole away to her bedroom and stood in front of her dresser.

She opened the top drawer and pushed aside a bunch of her bras and underwear to find the small box in the back corner. She knew that it was a stupid and predictable place to hide valuables, and she mentally chastised herself for it. But the truth was, she hadn't thought of the box in about six weeks, ever since she'd hidden it.

She opened it up and looked at the two rings. They were prettier than she remembered, shinier, even though she was pretty sure that the “diamonds” were just well made cubic zirconia. She squinted at the round cut stone on the engagement ring. It was beautiful, and it _looked_ real. But Neal could never have afforded anything like this that was real. She suddenly had the terrible thought that he might have stolen the rings, or bought them off of someone who had.

She took the rings out of the box and placed them on her left ring finger, just where they had been when she'd been driving home from Maine with the kids. She hadn't remembered putting them on before that trip. She didn't think she'd worn rings for years. But they _had_ to be from Neal. They had planned on getting married at some point, so he must have bought the rings, and she found them after he died.

The thing was, she couldn't _remember_ finding them. In fact, she couldn't for the life of her remember with any certainty where she had gotten them. All that she could think about at that moment were Killian's words.

_Maybe certain memories are simply irreplaceable._

Shaking her head, she took the rings off and placed them back in the box. She put the box back in the drawer and shut it forcefully.

She was tired as hell too, and that was why she was letting his words get to her.

Still, as she straightened up the apartment and got ready for bed, she couldn't stop thinking about the images she'd seen in her mind the night she had kissed Killian on his couch. She couldn't stop thinking about wedding rings. And for some reason, even though it was past nine o'clock in New England in the fall, and therefore already dark outside, she couldn't stop thinking about sunsets.

After completing her nighttime routine, she went to get Hope and bring her to bed.

“Mommy,” the little girl said. “I want to put my butterfly next to your bed tonight.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Emma said. “That's fine. It's pretty, isn't it?”

“Yeah, I guess. But Mrs. X and I did a magic spell on it to make it lucky so that Killian gets better. She said I had to keep it close.”

Emma recalled Henry saying something about the “magic spell” being part of Mrs. X's visit last night and rolled her eyes. “Honey, Killian is fine. It's fun to have good luck charms, but I promise you he doesn't need it. He's all better.”

She winced with guilt as she said the words, remembering how she'd blamed his crazy theorizing on his concussion just a half an hour ago.

Hope seemed to pick up on her doubt and said, “I know. I just want it still.”

Emma nodded and went into the kids' bedroom. She said 'goodnight' to Henry and retrieved the butterfly jar. When she returned to her room, Hope was already in bed. Emma placed the butterfly on the nightstand.

“Good?” she said to Hope.

“Good,” said Hope.

Emma crawled into bed with her daughter and snuggled her close. She looked down into that adorable little face and those beautiful blue eyes and said, “Sweet dreams, bean.”

Hope nodded and snuggled closer, and Emma turned off the light.

 

“Hope!” Emma cried, hearing in her own voice the panic she felt in her chest. She was in the woods, not far from the house. Hope couldn't have gotten far. It hadn't been that long. Why had she chased that stupid grey cat anyway? She knew better than to leave the yard. Emma had only looked away for a second, and she was gone.

“Hope!” she called again, and it was more like a scream this time. As she went further into the woods, she felt the hairs on her arms and back of her neck stand up. There was electricity in the air, and it felt unnatural. In the distance, coming from deep within the trees, Emma thought she heard a low and sinister buzzing sound. She followed it.

“Hope, please, where are you, love?” Killian's worried voice sounded from her left. She looked over at him. He was traipsing quickly through the brush, wearing his usual black leather jacket. His boots and black jeans were covered in mud. His face was a mask of panic as he peered into the forest.

“Killian?” she called because he hadn't noticed her yet.

He stopped and looked over at her. Realization seemed to dawn on him at the same time it did her.

They were dreaming. But they were also really there, _both_ of them.

And Emma knew, as she knew that he did, that Hope was here too. They were in one of Hope's dreams.

She gave Killian a silent nod, and they hurried deeper into the woods together.

 

Hope was hiding. She'd found a bush whose branches weren't too pokey and crawled underneath it. It was dark, so she hoped she was hidden from the witch and the bugs.

They had come for her again. They tried to get her some nights when she was asleep. The bug people with the black wings and weird faces would buzz around her and use their powers to take something out of her chest. It didn't hurt, not really. But it felt weird and wrong and she  _really_ didn't want them to do it anymore.

 She stayed as quiet as she could, hoping they'd go away. But she heard the buzzing, and it was getting louder. She was so scared. Henry once said that if you wanted to wake yourself up from a bad dream, you should pinch yourself. She winced as she pinched the skin on her arm again and again, but she couldn't wake herself up.

Still the buzzing grew closer. Then she heard the witch. “Dear one, where are you? It's time to play our game again!”

Hope scrunched her eyes closed. Maybe she could become invisible if she wished it. “Come on, little dear!” The witch kept talking to her, looking for her. “The sooner you help us, the sooner you can go home to your mommy!”

Hope choked on a little sob as she thought of her mommy. She missed her so much right now. And her daddy too. She wished as hard as she could that they were here.

Suddenly, from the direction away from the one the buzzing was coming from, she heard her parents' voices.

“Hope!” they cried, again and again. Their voices sounded scratchy and scared.

She knew that she was going to lose her hiding place if she went to them, but she didn't care. She _needed_ them.

She burst out of the bush and started to run towards her parents. She was so happy and relieved to see them. She was almost safe.

“Hope!” they yelled together, both of them running towards her. They had almost gotten to her, when out of nowhere, the witch appeared.

In that moment, Hope finally realized that the witch was also Mrs. X. She hadn't known it before, because she looked really ugly and scary here. She smiled at Hope, but it was a mean smile. Then she stuck out both her hands, and an ugly cloud of orange energy shot out from them. It formed itself into a wall around Hope's mom and dad, surrounding them on all sides. The energy was bright and swirly, and she could barely make out her parents' faces now. She could still hear them yelling, but they sounded quiet and fuzzy like when her mom yelled to her from the kitchen when Hope was in her and Henry's room with the door closed.

Behind her, Hope could hear the buzzing of the bug-fairy-people getting louder, and she wanted to get away from them so bad. She took a deep breath, and she ran towards the energy wall that held her parents. She thought she heard the old witch laughing as she ran, but she didn't care. When she hit the wall, the energy knocked her backwards, and she fell and landed on her butt. She landed so hard that it took her a minute to catch her breath.

Once she did, she began to cry.

Her mom and dad were still calling her name, and it sounded like they both were about to cry too.

She looked up and saw that the Mrs. X witch was standing over her, looking at her with those scary glowing orange eyes and horrible mean smile. The old lady reached down and pointed her finger towards Hope's forehead. The witch closed those awful eyes for a moment, muttered something, and lightly touched Hope's brow.

Hope gasped as she felt a pulse of energy run through her body. She knew a little about curses, and she knew she'd just been cursed.

The buzzing was all around her now too, and Hope scrunched her eyes shut. She didn't want to see all the bug people with their black wings and evil faces.

Her chest was shaking as she sobbed, terrified.

The witch spoke again. “It's almost over, little dear. Just let us take the last little bit of what we need.”

“No!” Hope managed to cry once she caught her breath again. “Please! It's mine, and _I_ need it.” She wrapped her arms around herself to try to keep them out. But that had never worked before, and it didn't work this time.

The biggest and meanest of the bug people flew in front of her. His wings and his eyes were black, and when he grinned at her, she saw that his teeth were a yucky yellowish color and very pointy. He reached out his tiny hands, and she felt him begin to pull more of her power out of her chest.

They were taking her magic, for she knew that's what it was. She had known all along. She was little, but she knew she had something special inside of her. Something they wanted and that was almost all gone now.

She continued to cry as they drained her. And when she stopped crying to take a breath, she realized that she couldn't hear her mom and dad anymore.

 

Emma woke in terror. She wasn't sure if she had been screaming out loud, but her throat was raw. She was also conscious of hands on her arm, and she turned to the side to see Henry's terrified face. He knelt by her bedside. He was clearly scared, but his face gradually relaxed as he realized that she was awake.

“Mom,” he said. “You were screaming. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Kid,” she rasped. She cleared her throat. “I'm okay.” But the dream...

Hope.

Emma looked down at the sleeping child next to her. Hope was deathly pale. Her hair was sweaty and matted to the sides of her face. And she was shaking.

The shaking was so bad that, for a moment, Emma wondered if her baby girl was having a seizure. Did she have some form of Epilepsy? Then she remembered the nightmare. Watching through an orange haze as those flying monsters came for her baby.

Emma sat up in bed and grasped Hope by the arms as Henry looked on in fear.

“Hope, sweetie, wake up,” Emma ordered.

Hope's eyes remained closed. Emma tried again but there was no change. Somehow, she knew that this time was different, much worse than those other nights.

“Mom,” Henry said, his voice thick. “What is happening? You were screaming. And when I came in, that stupid butterfly thing...”

Emma turned towards him sharply, and Henry swallowed before continuing.

“Mom, it was  _glowing_. I swear.”

Emma took her hands off of Hope's arms and reached for the bell jar with the silk butterfly. She picked it up off the nightstand and threw it across the room with all her might. It hit the opposite wall with a thud and fell to the floor. But it didn't break. In fact, Emma thought she saw it shake for a moment. It trembled, like it was alive, before coming to rest on the floor.

Emma turned her attention back to waking Hope. She shook her and pleaded with her, but there was no response.

She was not surprised when she heard the banging on the door of their apartment.

“It's Killian,” she told Henry, as calmly as she could. “Please go let him in.”

Emma was sure that Killian knew, just like she did, that something was very wrong with Hope. Of course he did. He had been there in the dream, just like she had.

Once she had accepted that this time was different, and that she wasn't going to be able to wake Hope by the usual means, she simply pulled the shaking, unconscious girl into her lap to cradle her.

“Please, baby,” she said quietly. “Fight it. Try to wake up. Mommy's here.”

She looked up when Killian walked into the room. He wore his pajamas and he had no brace on his arm. His hair was sticking up at all angles, and his face was ashen.

Emma nuzzled her face against Hope's ear and whispered to her daughter, “We're all here.”

She heard Killian swallow hard and say, “She won't wake up?”

Emma just shook her head against her daughter's cheek. She felt like a sob was going to escape her throat at any moment.

Killian walked the two strides he needed to get to the bed and sat down opposite Emma. He reached for Hope and brushed her damp hair off of her face. Then, he reached down and held Hope's harm firmly, in what seemed to be a futile attempt to quell the girl's trembling. Fresh tears sprung to Emma's eyes as she watched him, and one spilled out when she turned towards the doorway and saw Henry standing there watching the scene play out. He looked terrified.

She realized that she had to take charge.

“We have to get her out of here. To a doctor, I think. A hospital.”

With a sudden burst of inspiration, she handed Hope to Killian. He looked at her with fear and something like awe as he pulled Hope to his chest with his strong arms and cradled her like a baby. Emma could tell that he was whispering something to the little girl, but she couldn't hear what it was.

Anyway, she had to move.

Emma grabbed some clothes from her dresser and threw them into the bathroom. Then she sprinted to the kitchen for her phone and called Dr. Li's office to leave a message that they were taking Hope to Boston Children's and could Dr. Li come there or call her as soon as possible. At least Dr. Li knew them, knew the background about Hope's problems. Maybe she could give them some guidance once they got to the hospital.

She hurried into the bathroom to change, then went back to her room to relieve Killian. Emma pulled the sweaty and trembling Hope back into her own arms.

“I'm taking her to Children's,” she said tersely. “If you want to come, go get ready _now_. We're leaving in three minutes.”

Killian nodded and stood. He took one last worried look at Hope then hurried out of the room.

She addressed Henry, who was sitting at the foot of the bed.

“Henry, go change. Pack her some clothes. And grab her Olaf pillow. Meet me at the front door.”

Henry nodded and complied, and she was proud of his composure in a crisis. He met her at the front door two minutes later with Hope's backpack, her pillow, and his school backpack. Killian was already standing in the hallway dressed in jeans and a wrinkled henley when they emerged. He was still buckling his brace as they headed outside to Emma's yellow VW.

It was 4:15 in the morning when she turned her car, carrying all four of them, onto Longwood Avenue and pulled into the Emergency Department entrance at Boston Children's Hospital.

Killian carried Hope inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that one hurt a little bit, sorry about that! 
> 
> Hopefully it's clear by now that this is a canon divergence story and not an AU. I do want to make a couple of notes about how this relates to canon. For the most part, I'm ignoring Season 7, but there are two exceptions. One is that, Rumple and Belle have left Storybrooke just like they did in 7X04. The other is obviously that Emma and Killian had a daughter named Hope. I did change the timeline, though. You can assume that the Swan-Joneses had their daughter fairly soon after the wedding, soon enough for it to be a little scandalous even ;) Still, it probably doesn't quite work that Hope is 3 and a half and Henry is still only 17, but I thought it was close enough. Also, assuming little Neal was around 8 or 9 months at the time of the wedding (but who knows) he's about 5 for the purposes of this story.
> 
> Annnnnd now my head hurts. Thanks as always for reading and for all the lovely feedback!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pieces are starting to come together for everyone. 
> 
> As always, double line breaks indicate a point of view change.

_Storybrooke, Maine_

_Six months ago_

On days like today, David truly cherished his life and felt thrilled that he'd made the decision to leave law enforcement and buy this small farm for the family. Emma and Killian could deal with the town squabbles and the occasional drunk and disorderlies. They were good at it. When he left the Sheriff's Department, he had expected that some of the administrative work would fall by the wayside. Between him and his daughter, he had always been the more disciplined one when it came to reports and filing. However, Deputy Jones had turned out to be a surprisingly diligent and organized record keeper, once he had gotten some basic instruction on how to use the dreaded “magic box.”

Now, David was overjoyed that, on gorgeous spring days like today, he got to work outside instead of inside that stuffy station or in a patrol car. He relished the clean breeze, the warmth of the sun, and the chance to care for his land and his animals. Even better, today he was grateful for the chance to care for his four-year-old son and three-year-old granddaughter while they played and helped out on the farm.

It was spring break in Storybrooke, so the schools were closed for the week, and the kids and Snow were all off. Rather than have Killian and Emma send Hope to Ashley's while they were at work, David and Snow had offered to take her every day that week so that she could spend some time on the farm.

Hope was only three, but she was precocious and mature beyond her years. It made sense. Although her parents adored her and gave her everything she could want, neither of them were the type of people to condescend to her or baby her too much. They respected and nurtured her curiosity and her innate intelligence. Plus, she had a much older brother in Henry, who was a steady influence and teacher. She would sometimes use a big word or a grown up phrase that she had clearly learned from him, and it would sound delightfully adorable in her small voice and immature pronunciation.

But Hope could also be childish and silly, of course. She had spent the morning running around the yard with Neal while the family dog, Wilby, chased them. Neal and Hope had been giggling constantly while running, and they practically collapsed with laughter when David decided to tease Wilby by throwing the dog's favorite tennis ball into the mix. Wilby bounced back and forth on his paws, his tongue hanging out as he looked with confusion from the kids to to the ball in a futile attempt to decide which to chase first.

Before they could tire themselves out too much, Snow appeared at the back door and asked if the kids wanted to come in for a snack. Neal rushed up the steps to his mother, but Hope politely declined and instead wandered over to the spot by the chicken coop where David was working.

He was sorting the eggs that he had gathered that morning from his chickens into cardboard cartons that he'd laid out on some overturned wooden crates. David would sell most of the eggs to the local grocery, and he brought the rest to the farmers' market that the town held every Saturday in the square.

“Can I help?” Hope asked sweetly after she'd stood by his side and watched him for a few minutes.

“Of course!” David replied. “You just have to hold the eggs very carefully so that they don't break, and then place them gently in the cartons.”

He held her hand and guided her as she reached into the basket in which he'd gathered the eggs. She carefully picked one out and placed it into one of the cartons.

After he helped her a couple of times, she was able to do it on her own, and they worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. David couldn't help but smile at his delightful granddaughter's serious expression as she worked carefully.

“Grandpa?” she said after a few minutes.

“Yes, honey?

“Are these eggs going to hatch baby chicks?”

David sighed. Easter had been a few weeks ago, and the town had been covered in bunny and chick decorations. Hope and Neal had become addicted to those candy marshmallow chicks. Of course she would wonder if these eggs would hatch.

“These won't, sweetheart. They're, um, special eggs.” The truth was, one of David's roosters had died recently, and he'd been keeping the other two separate from the hens for the past month or so. Therefore, these eggs had not been fertilized, but he didn't want to go into the details of all _that_ with Hope.

She seemed a little bit disappointed about that, but she took it in stride and quietly went back to work.

Snow called them into lunch a little while later, and then she sat on the back porch with the kids while they colored and David went back out to finish the rest of his chores.

Later, when he came up to the porch for a drink of water, he found Snow and Neal looking at Hope with wonder. The little girl was sitting on the porch floor with her legs crossed, gingerly clutching something in her hands. Next to her, David noticed pieces of broken egg shells.

“Looks like your helper took a souvenir for herself, and it hatched!” Snow told him, amusement in her voice. “I thought you'd been keeping the roosters separate from the hens?” she added.

David knelt down and studied the tiny baby hatchling in Hope's small hands. His mouth dropped open in disbelief. “I had been,” he finally replied to his wife. “In fact, I'm sure that they haven't been out of their pen in weeks.”

Snow looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Hope snuck the egg onto the porch when she came up for lunch,” she explained. “She brought it out to show it to us, and then she was just cradling it and looking at it with concentration for a little while...”

“Huh,” David replied. “Hope, honey, did you want that egg to hatch?”

“Yep!” she replied proudly. “I held it and pictured the baby chick inside ready to be borned, and then it pecked itself out! Do you think Mommy and Daddy will let me keep it?”

David shook his head in wonder. Emma and Killian had mentioned some minor incidents around the house in which Hope seemed to have used her burgeoning magic. But he was stunned by this one. The little girl had made life where there shouldn't have been any. It was extraordinary.

“Maybe we can keep it here on the farm,” Snow said diplomatically. She was taking this in stride better than he was, or maybe she still thought the chick had been conceived the old fashioned way. “But it can be yours and you can visit anytime you want.”

Hope seemed satisfied with that, and Snow helped her prepare a little habitat for the chick to live in while it was very young.

She named her Tinkerbell, after her parents' friend and one of her favorite babysitters (“Because Tink has yellow hair too!”) After that, whenever Hope visited the farm, the first thing she did was rush to visit Tink.

Later that day, as an experiment, David returned some of the eggs from the same clutch Tink had come from back to the hens. He kept a close eye on them over the course of the next week.

None of the others hatched.

 

_Present Day_

David was pulled from his reminiscing by the smack of books dropping down on the diner table in front of him. He sighed and looked up at the green and black clad woman who had brought them. “Good morning to you too, Zelena.”

She snorted in reply. “I suppose it is, although it would be a right bit better if I had about a dozen more people to help me get through these blasted books.”

“Well, that's what I'm here for, and Snow and Regina will help out at lunchtime, right?”

She sighed in annoyance. “Yes, they're supposed to, just like always. I'm just tired of poring over page after page looking for this witch when we have so little to go on about who she is.”

David nodded in agreement. It was frustrating as hell. They were trying to identify the witch who had come to town with the dark fairies to try to steal Hope's magic. Regina and Zelena believed that she had been the one to cast the curse at the town line.

They had all come to the conclusion that this witch and the fairies had intentionally driven Emma, Killian and Hope out of town after their attempts to steal Hope's magic in Storybrooke had failed several times. There was just too much powerful light magic in Storybrooke, and everybody that lived here loved Hope and wanted to protect her. Once the fairies had made their presence known, Hope was under close watch by every one of the town's residents.

But the fairies kept increasing their numbers, and soon the mysterious witch appeared in town. She was an ally of the fairies who was able to change her appearance in attempts to fool Hope and her protectors. Nobody ever got a good look at her true form. She wore hooded robes and kept her face in shadow, but a few people caught a glimpse of her terrifying eyes that seemed to glow with orange light.

The witch's shape-changing ability had changed the game. It got to the point where neither Emma nor Killian ever wanted to let Hope out of their sight for even a second. The effort it took to protect her started to wear on everyone, and Hope's parents began to hate the idea of forcing their lively daughter to live under constant guard.

It had been Regina who suggested that they should leave town for a little while. The fairies wouldn't be able to use magic outside of Storybrooke, so Hope would be safe outside of town. Regina also had argued that, because everyone was always so focused on protecting Hope, nobody ever had the time or bandwidth to actually figure out how to banish the fairies for good. If Hope was gone, safe in the land without magic, Regina and Zelena, who had regained her powers soon after the Final Battle, could take the fight to the fairies and the witch.

At first, Emma hated the idea of running away. But as everyone started to see the logic to Regina's idea, they were able to slowly convince Emma that it was their best chance to keep Hope safe.

What Regina hadn't counted on was the difficult dilemma the plan created for Henry. He was one of Hope's most devoted protectors, and as much as he hated the idea of leaving Regina, the thought of spending weeks or months apart from Hope was unthinkable for him. So he went, and his absence wore on Regina more and more every day.

These days, the mayor was in a constant state of nastiness and irritation that had begun to remind David of her worst days as the Evil Queen. He felt for her though. He missed Emma and the others like crazy too. They had all faced so many separations over the years, and they were all buckling under the strain of this one.

Regina was her usual terse self and Snow her typically cheerful one when the two women squeezed into the booth with David and Zelena just before noon. Nobody made small talk; they just got to work. There was just so much reading to do. They had sifted through the library and Belle's personal collection to find all the books that made references to different witches over the centuries. Unfortunately, there were a lot of them. Over the past six weeks, the four of them had perused hundreds of books with no promising leads about who the mysterious orange-eyed witch had been.

Until today. Today, miraculously, they had a breakthrough. It was Snow who spoke up, breaking the four of them from their dour research-focused silence.

“Huh,” she said. David felt her begin to bounce up and down a little in the booth. “Hey!” she added, with more excitement. “I have something! This might be her!”

She held up the ancient book and pointed to an etching of a hooded figure with stringy hair sticking out of the hood of its robe and a clear depiction of glowing eyes.

Snow turned the book back towards herself and began to read, “ _Xanathusa, also known as the Mistress of Insanity, is capable of adopting many forms. Her true form is marked by her illuminated orange eyes_.”

David patted his wife's arm excitedly, “That sounds right so far!” he said.

“Keep going,” Regina ordered.

“Okay,” Snow replied. “Oh... _Xanathusa was a student of the Dream God Morpheus and is also known in many realms as the Mistress of Nightmares_.”

“I've been the mistress of a few _men_ who nightmares,” Zelena snorted. “Sorry,” she added, off their scowls.

Snow continued reading a few details about Xanathusa's history, and David noticed that Regina had looked away and seemed to be considering something.

“Regina,” he asked when Snow paused. “You're thinking something. Care to share with the group?”

She sighed. “Yes, I have a theory. But if it's correct, Hope and the others are in a lot of danger.”

David nodded for her to keep going and then listened with dawning terror as she explained that a witch like Xanathusa, who had studied with Morpheus, might be capable of accessing a person's dreams even in the land  _without_ magic. If she could create a connection between Hope and a magical realm through her dreams, she might still be able to steal the little girl's magic.

“It's just a theory,” Regina added as the group sat in distressed silence.

“It makes as much sense as anything we've considered before, though,” Zelena replied darkly.

David asked, “So what can we do? Do I call them again and tell Emma not to let Hope ever go to sleep? If Emma doesn't have her memories, she's probably already suspicious of the phone calls from the crazy guy.”

“I think we should call her again anyway,” Snow replied. “She deserves some kind of warning. Maybe it will trigger something for her. We just have to believe that she'll know on some level that she should listen to us, that we just want to help.”

Regina nodded, “I agree. It doesn't hurt to have Emma on her guard. From here, we can focus our research on this witch, see if she has any weaknesses we can exploit.”

Zelena chimed in, “Now that we know her name, there are other things we can do, too.”

At their questioning looks, she continued, “We can't put a locator spell on her, because we don't have something that belongs to her. But, I know a way to put a protection spell on the town that would alert us if she arrives.”

“Why would she come back here?” David asked.

“Well,” Zelena explained, “if she succeeds in taking Hope's magic, she's going to need to get her own physical form back to a magical realm so that she can actually use it. She can't open a portal from Boston. At least, I don't think she can, even if she has access to Hope's power. The witch will have to come back here to cross realms or to use her magic or the magic she stole in _any_ way. When she comes here, we'll know immediately, and we can grab her.”

“Okay,” Snow said, enthusiastically clapping her hands together. “We have a plan!”

David put his arm around his wife and pulled her close as, across the table, Regina surreptitiously rolled her eyes. As always, David wanted to share his wife's optimism, but it had been six weeks.

He knew that the truth was that there was every likelihood that the witch had already gotten to Hope.

 

_Boston, MA_

Killian felt like he was in the way. He wanted to stay close to Emma while Hope went through triage and was admitted to Boston Children's Hospital, but he didn't feel like he was being any help. He wasn't even a relative, he thought sadly. As much as he wished that his dreams and Hope's fanciful notions of him being her father were real, he couldn't simply make it so in everyone else's reality.

He needed to be rational and steady for Emma, Henry, and Hope.

As scared as she must have been on the inside, outwardly Emma kept everything under control. She explained Hope's history and condition to the Emergency Department doctors and nurses. In fact, by his count, she explained it half a dozen times as different people fluttered in and out of Hope's curtained off area.

Emma's face was drawn, and she looked older than her years, but she did not cry. She simply stood by Hope's bedside and stroked her forehead as she alternated between speaking with a medical professional and waiting to speak with the next one. Often, she would lean down to talk in the little girl's ear, explaining what was going on and letting her know that they were all there. That they were excited to see her and talk to her when she woke up.

Killian and Henry listened closely to Emma's conversations with the doctors, but they had little to contribute. Occasionally, Henry would move to the other side of the bed to lean down and speak to Hope himself.

Killian stayed back, though. He watched Hope every second, willing her to wake up, but he was afraid that making his presence more obtrusive would throw off the delicate balance of control that Emma was maintaining. After all, the bad things that were happening to Hope had started when Killian had entered their lives. David Nolan had mentioned _him_ in the warning voicemail. And Killian had been a participant in Hope's latest, disastrous nightmare. And most likely, Emma knew that. Because she had been there too.

They hadn't talked about the shared dream yet, and Killian was afraid to bring it up. Emma had to deal with the immediate problem in front of her, and that was Hope's medical condition. He understood that there was no way she was going to be able to talk about shared dreams or return to the subject of altered memories and still keep a hold on her sanity. So he stayed quiet.

At around eight in the morning, Dr. Li showed up to talk to Emma, and he could see that her presence gave Emma some relief. He watched as she introduced herself to Hope's doctors and then explained her background and her understanding of Hope's severe history of nightmares in clinical terms. She was confident and even a bit stern with the other doctors.

When they left, Dr. Li turned to Emma, Killian and Henry and smiled sadly. “So,” she explained, “I asked them to run me through the battery of tests they were performing, and it was all pretty much what you'd expect for a child who had lost consciousness like this. The ECG ruled out a heart issue, and there are no signs of trauma, obviously.”

Emma swallowed and said, “They took so many vials of blood.”

Dr. Li nodded, “I know, it seems like a lot when a child is so little. They're going to be focused on looking for an infectious disease that's causing this, like encephalitis or meningitis, even though Hope has little risk of exposure to those. These people are trained to look for a physiological cause for her unconsciousness. The good news is that they're not calling it a coma. She still has some motor and pupil response. It's more like she's just asleep, but she won't wake up to the normal stimuli.”

“She can't wake up from her nightmare,” Emma said quietly. Killian glanced at her and she briefly met his eyes before frowning and addressing Dr. Li again with the question that was on his mind as well. “Could the cause be psychological? I know that she was having another nightmare. Could it be stress or anxiety from what she's dreaming about that's keeping her asleep?”

“I have never seen night terrors, nightmares or other sleep disorders manifest in this kind of prolonged unconsciousness,” Dr. Li replied. “But, I'm here to help you navigate these doctors and the diagnosis process. My advice right now is to let them look for a medical cause, but keep doing what you're doing. Talking to Hope and letting her know that you're all here. She may very likely just fight through it on her own.”

Killian saw the tears of frustration spring to Emma's eyes, but she kept her cool and thanked Dr. Li for coming. The doctor needed to head back to her own offices for the rest of the morning, but she promised that she would continue to check in.

Emma suggested that Henry and Killian go to the cafeteria to grab some breakfast while she waited for the next batch of test results, but Killian asked Henry to go on ahead and told him that he would join him later.

When the boy left and it was just him and Emma in Hope's small curtained off room, Killian walked to the little girl's bedside and took her tiny hand. He felt Emma watching him.

“Hello, little love,” he said. His throat was dry, and he could hear that his voice sounded tired and sad, so he cleared his throat a little before continuing. “I just wanted to let you know that I miss you very much, and I would love it if you would wake up. I promise to give you all the sword fighting lessons you want whenever you want!” He glanced up at Emma, who was watching him carefully. Her eyes were full of grief and worry, but he thought he still saw a faint light of hope. “If you feel like you can't wake up just yet,” he went on. “That's okay, just go wherever you feel safe and rest for awhile. We're here, and we'll always be here when you need us. We won't let anyone hurt you.”

It was on the word 'always,' that he felt the tears spring to his eyes. He knew that, as things stood, he had no right to make such promises to Hope in regard to himself. As much as he had these strange gut feelings that he had a history with Emma's family, he knew that such notions were nearly impossible.

“Killian,” Emma said from the other side of Hope's bed. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” he replied. He released Hope's hand gently and walked around her bed to stand with Emma.

Emma smoothed Hope's hair back one more time and smiled slightly at the girl before stepping closer to Killian and talking quietly. “How did you know to knock on our door last night?” she asked him.

“Emma,” he said softly. “I think you might know how.” He didn't want to challenge her or start a fight, but he remembered so clearly locking eyes with her when they encountered each other in the woods of Hope's dream. He had seen the shock and the realization. She had been there in the dream too.

“We were both in her dream, or we were all having the same dream,” Emma admitted. “How the hell is that possible?”

“I'll admit, I've never heard of such a thing,” Killian replied. “But, I have a theory.”

Emma nodded at him to go on.

Killian sighed and said, “Hope is clearly afraid in her dreams, of that witch that is after her and those other things, the things that fly and make the buzzing sound. I think that her response to that fear is to reach out for us and somehow pull us into the dream so that we can help her.”

Emma snorted, “We weren't much help last night.”

He looked at her sharply. Was she believing this?

She sighed and said “I know that it's impossible. Being pulled into someone else's dream is not a thing that happens in the real world. But I have no other explanation right now, because I know that you and I were there. I saw it. I felt it. And now, Hope is there, trapped with those monsters, and we're stuck here being completely helpless. What the hell are we supposed to do?”

Her voice finally broke on the last words, and he saw the cracks in her calm demeanor. The same fear had been nagging at him all morning too. Now, that nagging fear sunk deeper into his bones and froze into an icy cold dread as the realization truly hit him. They had woken up, returned to the real world, and left poor darling Hope alone in her nightmare.

He felt distraught and heartsick. Maybe Emma would have been able to continue dealing with this on her own, just like she had been dealing with things her whole life. The truth was that he couldn't. He couldn't look at the beautiful little girl in the hospital bed, the child whose life he believed he was meant to be a part of, and imagine that in her mind she was all alone and afraid. He thought it might break his heart.

He cautiously took a step forward and reached out to touch Emma's arm, just to see if she might let him comfort her and let him take some comfort from her. To his relief, she gave an exasperated sigh that he understood to mean “it's okay, you idiot” and threw her arms around his midsection. He pulled her into the hug and pressed his face down into her hair, dampening it a little with his tears. She embraced him tightly enough to hurt his bruised ribs, but he didn't mind at all.

 

Hope couldn't believe it, the witch and the bug fairies had left her alone. After they had taken her power out of her chest, the witch had disappeared, and the bugs had flown away. She was still scared that they might come back, so she went back to the bush she'd hidden in before and stayed for awhile.

That was boring and uncomfortable, though, and she didn't hear anything coming except for normal woods sounds. Sometimes, though, in the distance, she thought she heard her mom or Henry talking to her. She wanted to get up to look for them, but she was still scared that the witch might be tricking her. Or worse, that she would hurt anyone that came to help her. Finally, she heard her dad's voice. She'd been waiting to hear from him, and somehow she heard a few of his words clearly. “Go where you feel safe,” he had said.

So she got up and started walking. She never walked anywhere by herself in real life. But she had been in this dream enough times to know that, in this dream world, these woods weren't far from her house. She thought she could find it.

It didn't take her long to reach the large, gray victorian house with the white fence and the shed in the backyard. She came out of the woods behind the house, so she had to walk right by the shed. It looked older and more broken down than it was supposed to. The paint was peeling, even though she remembered that her dad and Henry had painted it just after Henry got out of school for summer vacation.

Her swing set was gone too. She was sad about that. She loved her swing set, and it had been one of the first places she'd thought of when she'd tried to think of a safe place to go.

She sighed and looked up at her house. She wanted more than anything to believe that she would walk inside to find her family waiting for her. That Henry would be at the dining room table with his books and laptop. Daddy would be in the kitchen trying to cook something healthy that all of them would actually _eat_ this time. Mommy would be on a work call, but she'd make Hope laugh by walking over to check out Daddy's cooking and wrinkling up her nose like it was gross. Daddy would pretend to be mad, but Hope would know he wasn't because he could never be mad at Mommy. His eyes sparkled when he looked at her, just like they always did. Mommy would rush to hang up her call and then pick up Hope in her arms so that they could both give Daddy kisses on the cheek and Hope would thank him for the“dee-licious” dinner he was cooking. They would laugh and hug, and everything would be good and normal again.

She thought all these thoughts as she walked up the front steps and opened the front door, and her heart hurt with disappointment when she found her house to be cold and empty. Of course they weren't there. They were outside, awake, waiting for her. She stood in the foyer and pinched her arm for about the millionth time since she'd been in this dream. For the millionth time, it didn't work.

So, she walked over to the living room, grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the sofa and threw them on the floor by the fireplace. From the coffee table, she grabbed a big book of pictures of old sailboats that she liked to look at with Daddy. She brought the heavy book over to her spot on the floor and began to look at the pictures. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and tried to imagine a roaring fire instead of a cold fireplace. She tried to imagine that she wasn't trapped here all alone.

 

Alone at a corner table in the busy hospital cafeteria, Henry took the last bite of his chocolate frosted doughnut as he typed away on his laptop. The hospital's guest wifi sort of sucked or it was totally overloaded, which was frustrating because he was trying to search quickly.

He had started his research yesterday not knowing what he was looking for. All he knew was that Mrs. X creeped him out and had been on the scene when something terrible had happened to Killian, and that Hope's nightmares had started around the same time Mrs. X had given her the butterfly jar.

He didn't know exactly why Mrs. X would want to hurt Hope and why she would choose such a slow, deliberate way to do it. But, his mom had always taught him to follow his gut, and as crazy as it sounded, his gut told him that Mrs. X was a _witch_. In old stories, witches were always coming after young princesses. Sometimes it was because of jealousy. Other times it was because the young princess had a destiny or a power that the witch wanted to steal. That felt more right to Henry in this case. There had always been something special about his little sister, and he believed that this witch was trying to take it.

Henry had always prided himself on his research skills. He had begun working yesterday when he got home from school and continued again after his mom got back from Killian's. But just googling 'witches' had produced results that were pretty much infinite. Butterflies, too, had many meanings in different cultures all over the world. When he added search terms about dreams and dream manipulation, it narrowed the results a little. He learned about someone named Morpheus, like the guy in “The Matrix,” but who was mythological god of dreams and could take a human form in people's dreams. But there was nothing about Morpheus that linked him to anyone that sounded like Mrs. X, and nothing that talked about using butterfly trinkets to create nightmares and hurt little girls. He had given up in frustration and gone to bed.

 He had only been asleep for a couple of hours when his mother's cries had woken him.

Now, he was absolutely sure that Mrs. X and her butterfly were the cause of Hope's nightmares. Last night was the first night Hope had a nightmare while sleeping in their mom's room,  _and_ it was the only night she'd brought the butterfly in there. Plus, he'd seen it glow when he'd entered the room, and he'd noticed the way it had trembled, like it was alive or something, after his mom had thrown it on the floor. His mom had believed him in that moment, when she first realized something was wrong with Hope. She knew deep down that something crazy was happening. Killian did too, even if neither of them had told Henry everything.

Now, Hope was asleep upstairs, and nothing could wake her up. Thinking about how the butterfly jar had glowed so eerily, he'd decided to shift his research away from the dead end he'd hit with Morpheus and instead Googled 'real magic and unexplained occurrences.'

Most of what came up was people claiming to have seen ghosts or who had experienced poltergeist-type stuff.  However, he also found a few blogs and Reddit posts about people who  believed they had seen magic in real life. Just by scrolling through them quickly, he could tell that most of it was just weird crap from crazy people, but one post had caught his eye.

The poster described being in front of the New York Public Library when a teenage boy suddenly climbed up one of the lions and began addressing the crowd. Apparently, the kid had talked about how we've all lost our belief in magic, and then he'd asked the crowd to believe again just for a little while, because he needed their help. According to the poster, it was part of some trick that ended with four people appearing out of nowhere in the fountain in front of the library. The guy had been standing right next to the fountain and had seen the people materialize seemingly out of thin air. To Henry, the guy who had written the post seemed like a reasonable person. He wrote that he knew what he'd seen was some kind of stunt or performance, but he'd watched carefully and hadn't been able to figure out where the people had come from.

Something about that post struck Henry as important. The guy's story had nothing to do with witches or dreams or butterflies in jars, but there was something about it...something familiar. He decided to trust his gut, and used the date, location, and description of the incident to try to find more posts about the boy and the fountain at the New York Pubic Library. What he really needed was a Tweet or a Facebook or Instagram post with a picture of the incident.

After about an hour of searching, he found not one, but two. 

 

Killian and Emma's lingering, comforting hug was interrupted by a nurse and an orderly who were there to move Hope out of the Emergency Department to a regular patient room. Killian stayed with Emma while they moved her, walking behind the gurney and carrying Hope's things as Emma walked beside Hope and held the unconscious girl's hand. Once Hope was resettled in the new room, Emma sent Killian to the cafeteria to check on Henry and to get something to eat for himself. He reluctantly agreed to go, promising to bring her back hot chocolate with cinnamon. She managed a smile for him as he took a final longing look at Hope and gave Emma a little nod of encouragement before he walked out the door.

Soon, another resident stopped by to check on Hope and update Emma. They were still awaiting more lab results and had not been able to trace the cause of her unconsciousness. Her vitals were still stable. There had been a slight decline in her heart rate, but nothing that they were concerned about. Emma mentally added the “yet” that the young doctor had left unsaid. Emma thanked him quietly, and he left with a slightly embarrassed nod.

Emma flitted around the room, trying to make it as cheerful as she could. She opened the blinds. She placed Hope's Olaf pillow next to her. Maybe she could ask Killian and Henry to go find some flowers or balloons. Hope would love seeing them when she woke up. Emma pulled a chair over to Hope's bedside to wait. She alternated between stroking Hope's soft blonde hair and squeezing her little hand. Sometimes, she would stand and just nuzzle the little girls baby soft cheek, closing her eyes and willing her to come back to them.

And she talked to her. She kept telling her about all the fun things that they would do when Hope woke up. How much ice cream they would get. How on Saturday they could go to the Boston Children's museum and then walk over to visit Killian at work.

It felt natural to talk to Hope about Killian. Emma knew that it was important that the little girl know that he was there. Emma was glad that he was here, too.

The voicemail from David Nolan and Killian's crazy ramblings from the night before still worried her. That she and Killian seemed to have been pulled into Hope's dream was simply too much for her mind to process if she thought about it for too long. Her brain was still telling her that she needed to be cautious around Killian, but her heart and her gut continued to overrule it.

She knew how much he cared for them. He made it clear in every word and gesture. Emma's instincts were telling her to keep believing in him. That he  _belonged_ with them right now.

She also knew beyond any doubt that if Hope woke up, _when_ she woke up, that she would ask for him. For that reason alone, he had to stay.

 

Killian spotted Henry at a table in the corner of the cafeteria and decided to walk over to check on him before going through the line himself. The boy was staring intently at his laptop and did not even notice Killian approaching until he cleared his throat.

“Everything all right, lad?” Killian asked, as Henry looked up at him with a startled expression.

“Uh, yeah. Hey, Killian,” he replied distractedly. “Actually, I'm glad you're here.”

Killian cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?” he replied. “I was just about to see if there was anything edible here and procure your mom some hot chocolate. Do you want me to pick up anything else for you?”

Henry shook his head quickly. “No, I'm good. But Killian?”

Killian had started to step away but turned back and looked at the boy with curiosity.

“Can you sit down for a second first? I kind of need to show you something.”

Killian nodded and sat down next to Henry. The lad moved his laptop over a little so that they both could see the screen. On it, there appeared to be a post from that silly website, Facebook. Killian knew what it was. He recognized the logo and of course had heard about of all the controversies. He thought he even recalled seeing that movie about its young, arrogant founder. However, having no family and very few friends with whom he wanted to keep in touch, he had never used it himself.

The post that Henry had pulled up appeared to be a picture taken outside a building that looked familiar to Killian. A crowd was gathered in front of it.

“What are we looking at, lad?”

Henry took a breath and explained the “research project” he had undertaken in the last eighteen or so hours. How Mrs. X had been giving him what the boy called “really weird vibes.” He told Killian about the strange glow he had seen from the butterfly jar in his mom's room last night. He explained that he had started to think there had been a supernatural or a magical explanation to the strange events that had been happening to them.

Before Killian could respond to any of it, Henry exclaimed, “And I'm not crazy! I think I found proof that something weird is going on. I'm just not sure what it means.”

“Henry, I don't think you're crazy,” Killian assured him. Henry raised his eyebrows. He looked guarded, like he was waiting for the “but” where Killian would tell him that he was just tired and stressed and it was making him irrational. 

Of course, Killian was not planning on saying anything of the sort. “To be quite honest, lad,” Killian replied, “I had a similar discussion last night with your mother. Only  _I_ was the one trying to convince her that I wasn't crazy.”  

At the boy's questioning look, Killian continued. “Since I've met you and your family, I've had the very strange feeling that we'd all known each other before. That we are somehow all closely connected, but for some reason, we don't remember.”

Killian paused to gather his courage before admitting the next part. “And I know it sounds mad, but I've even started to believe Hope a little bit when she says that I'm her father.” His voice cracked when he said the little girl's name, and he felt the tears well in his eyes. Still, he held Henry's gaze, needing the boy to understand that he was serious.

Henry's eyes widened, and Killian could “see the wheels turning,” as the expression went, in the boy's sharp and active mind.

“Killian,” Henry said after a moment. “You think that you knew us before? That somehow we all just forgot?”

“I know how it sounds,” Killian whispered.

But Henry didn't seem to doubt him. “No, that's great! That actually fits! See, I started researching strange occurrences and real world magic and I found this crazy story about a kid at the New York Public Library who climbed onto one of the lions and told a crowd of people that they needed to believe...”

Killian was starting at Henry, trying to process what he was saying. Henry must have sensed his confusion, because he just sighed impatiently and pulled the laptop closer to them. He pointed to the picture on the post.

“Look!” he said.

Killian looked. The picture had been taken from a distance and was a little out of focus, but when Killian squinted, the boy in the photo quite looked like Henry. Younger Henry though, perhaps at age thirteen or fourteen.

“Is that—” Killian began.

“Me?” Henry replied excitedly. “It's totally me! I had that same coat and plaid shirt when I was thirteen.”

“Okaaaay,” Killian replied slowly, still confused.

“The thing is, I don't remember doing this! I've been to the New York Public Library, but I've definitely never climbed up on the lions and told a crowd of people to believe in magic and make wishes. Here, just read the rest of the post. I didn't do any of this! Not that I can remember, anyway.”

Killian read the post and agreed that it was strange, inexplicable even. He was about to share the details of his suspicions that his own memories were wrong, or had somehow been replaced, when Henry pulled the laptop back and clicked to another tab in his browser. 

“That's not even the kicker though,” the boy said as he scrolled down a bit. “I found a different post from someone else who was there on the same day. They described the same event, 'me' making the speech, but the picture they posted was of the people that _I_ apparently conjured out of the fountain. Look.”

He pushed the computer closer to Killian again, and Killian found himself staring at a photo that clearly showed _himself_ , standing in a fountain in front of the library. He was clad in dark jeans and a black leather jacket. In the photo, his eyes were closed, and his expression was one of both awe and relief. And why shouldn't it be? For the Killian in the photo was hugging a slender blonde woman in a red leather jacket. Her face was hidden behind Killian's neck, but she could only be Emma Swan.

Killian blinked a few times to make sure his vision was clear. He stared at the picture again and confirmed what he already knew.

“When was this taken?” he whispered to Henry.

“About four and a half years ago,” Henry replied, a note of triumph in his voice.

“So we knew each other then, all of us.”

“Yep.”

“And if I was with your mom then, it probably means...” He felt laughter that was a mixture of joyous and crazy start to bubble up in his chest as he thought of the wedding band in the box on his dresser. Of the beautiful vision of Emma in her wedding gown. Of the times that Hope had called him “Daddy.”

It was real. All of it.

They were his family. He knew it. He had been feeling like they all belonged together because they _did_ belong together. If Hope hadn't been upstairs asleep in a hospital bed, he would have jumped out of his chair with joy because this beautiful, incredible fantasy that he'd secretly been nurturing had turned out to be reality.

But his worry for Hope tamped down his joy for now. Joy would have to wait until his little girl woke up.

Someone had done something to them to replace their memories. Why? To separate them? Make them vulnerable so that they could hurt Hope?

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, finally looking up from the picture of him and Emma to the boy who was staring at him expectantly. “Henry, how could this have happened?”

“I don't know,” Henry replied, shaking his head. “All I know is that Mrs. X is behind it. Killian, I think she's a witch. She gave that butterfly thing to Hope, and I _know_ that caused her nightmares. I think she even made you fall because you were making Hope remember things, like who you were to her.”

Killian thought back to his encounter with the old woman just before he'd climbed the stairs Sunday evening before his fall. He absently reached across his face with his hand and felt his left cheek just where'd she'd touched him with that weird, warming sensation. He knew with utter certainly that she had caused his accident.

Killian made a decision. “Henry,” he said. “Please tell Emma that I had to take care of something and that I'll be back this afternoon. Don't tell her all of this until I come back with more answers. I'm afraid it will only give her more stress and heartache right now.” 

He stood and took out his wallet, handing Henry a couple of twenties. “Hope's new room number is 417. Please get your mom something to eat and some hot chocolate. Don't forget the cinnamon. And would you mind stopping at the gift shop to see if they have balloons or a perhaps a stuffed toy to brighten up Hope's room?”

Henry nodded, accepted the money, then furrowed his brow. “But where are you going?” he asked Killian.

“To speak with dear old Mrs. Xavier,” he replied darkly. “To find out what the bloody hell she wants from my daughter.”

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Xanathusa shifted closer to the window of the bus, creating more space between herself and the snoring young man beside her. Mercifully, the teenage or twenty-something boy who had chosen the seat next to her when they'd boarded at South Station had immediately put on his headphones and fallen asleep.

She was in no mood to talk to anyone, and she was certainly too livid to be able to keep up the kind old lady persona that she had been cultivating for months in order to fool the Swan-Jones family.

No, now she felt every bit like the witch that she was. Her rage boiled just below the surface of her skin. She was on a bus, for Zeus' sake. An awkward, clumsy, metal contraption meant for common cattle, not a brilliant witch like her.

But she had miscalculated, and the fairies had double crossed her.

Her plan had worked. The little girl had stayed asleep long enough for the conduit to drain the rest of her magic. It had been successfully channeled across realms to the fairies' receptacle. Xanathusa had returned to the Dream Realm to meet the fairies, expecting their gratitude and her reward, her share of that most special magic.

Othrall had been polite and deferential to her, which should have been her first signal that something was amiss. He had given Xanathusa her share of the magic, placing it in the special box that she had provided him for the purpose. However, when Xanathusa attempted to leave the Dream Realm with it and return to her body, she could not. On attempting to cross over, she had felt a painful jolt and seen a flash of white light, and when she opened her eyes, she was still on the dream plane.

After a couple of attempts, she realized with dawning fury that she could only return to her body if she left the magic behind.

She argued with Othrall. She had successfully taken some magic out of the Dream Realm before. She had used it to repair the conduit and cast the spell on the pirate.

But Othrall only shrugged and snidely told her that this time, she must be trying to take too much. The borders of the Dream Realm wouldn't let her pull that much power into the land without magic. She would have to return to her physical body without it and find another way to the fairies' realm to claim her prize.

Xanathusa had seethed, and her orange eyes had flashed with rage, but she knew that it was pointless. She couldn't leave her body laying on a bed in a dingy apartment in Boston. She had to return to it and find another way back to her magic.

Gods help those fairies if they disappeared, or used all the magic for their own nefarious purposes before she got her share. She bristled at the thought, her anger humming through her blood.

So now, she was sitting on a bus heading up Interstate 95. She watched the trees go by in a blur as she plotted how she would open a portal once she got where she was going. She would also need to find a way to escape detection.

She had enemies in Storybrooke.

 

Killian met the building's superintendent in front of Mrs. Xavier's apartment. He had called the man and explained that Mrs. X had asked him to come over that morning to help her with a few odd jobs, but that she wasn't answering his knock. Killian claimed that he was worried that she might be ill or that she'd fallen and was unable to call for help.

The super, a gruff man in his sixties whose name was Patrick, didn't question Killian as he unlocked Mrs. X's door with one of his many keys.

Killian thanked him, and they walked into the apartment calling for Mrs. Xavier.

As soon as he set foot over the threshold, Killian knew that she was gone. He tried to hide his frustration from Patrick and simply asked if the super might have an alternative contact number for her. The man did not. The only number he had for the old woman was for the land line in the apartment.

Killian's stomach churned with a sick feeling of helpless frustration. He wanted to search every inch of that apartment to try to find out more about who or what Mrs. X was, but Patrick was not going to leave until Killian left with him. Reluctantly, Killian thanked Patrick and said he'd stop by again later to make sure that Mrs. X had gotten home okay.

When Patrick left the main entrance of the building, Killian slapped his hand on the wall of the lobby in frustration. What a fool he had been. There was no doubt in his mind that Mrs. X was behind Hope's nightmares and his own fall down the stairs. How long had he spent living in this building, being nice to this woman, all the while oblivious to the fact that she was a threat to the people he most needed to protect? He leaned his forehead against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting tears of frustration.

Eventually, all he could think to do was return to the hospital, but he hated the idea of facing Henry and Emma without any answers.

On impulse, he headed upstairs to his own apartment and went into his bedroom. He found the box on his bureau and took out the platinum wedding band. He placed it on his ring finger. There, that was better. That felt right.

He picked up and inspected the other pieces of jewelry. He put another ring, this one silver with a square black stone, on his index finger. Then he grabbed the long chain with the skull and sword charms. He sat on the bed and inspected the piece. Why had he bought this? Who had he been? Were all of his other memories, and the people in them, fake?

He thought of his parents. His sweet mother, gone too soon for him to remember much beyond her rust red hair, perpetually tied back in a long braid, and how she sang him to sleep at night. He pictured his swarthy father and the shifty, guilty expression that Brennan wore in the months before he left him and Liam.

Liam. As much as he was sure that he had a history with Emma, Hope, and Henry, he also knew that he'd had a brother named Liam Jones. He pictured a man with broad shoulders, hair that was lighter and curlier than Killian's, but with the same sparkling blue eyes. Picturing the man awakened in Killian feelings of admiration, loss, and shame. Maybe some of the details of his life had been altered, but his sense of his brother was immutable. Liam had been real. He knew it.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered to himself, rubbing his face with his hand. He had no idea how to separate the truth of his life from the falsehoods, and frustration threatened to overtake him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He thought about Henry. The boy had shown such energy and enthusiasm during their conversation in the hospital cafeteria. He was only seventeen years old, and these revelations threatened to upend everything that he knew, but still he pressed on, seeking the truth. What kind of special faith and bravery did that take? How had Henry's intelligence and belief shaped Killian's life in all the unremembered time they had known each other?

He remembered seeing Hope for the first time, or the first time that he could remember, outside of Emma's apartment. How her sweet, innocent forthrightness had enchanted him. She had trusted him immediately, and that just didn't happen. Killian Jones was trouble, and most people saw that from miles away and kept their distance. Not Hope, though. She had been open to him from the start. There was something about her, something untouchable that even magic or brainwashing or whatever _this_ was couldn't taint. In those moments between sleep and waking, she'd figured out the truth and called him “Daddy” while the rest of them stumbled about in ignorance. On some level, he understood that she had power, that she'd be a target, even if he couldn't put a name to why.

And then there was Emma,  _his_ _wife_. His breath caught even as he thought the words. What in all the worlds could he have done to ever deserve her? Even though his memories of his past were muddled, he still felt in his gut that there was truth to the history he'd shared with her that night in his apartment. He'd lost Liam, and he'd been weak and fallen into darkness. Had Emma been the one to pull him out of it, and if she had, why? What light had she seen in him?

He pictured her in his mind. The way she powered through each day, hair flying, eyes flashing, oblivious to her own needs and injuries but completely attuned to those of her children. The way she had tended to him when he was hurt. The way she looked at him with that mix of skepticism and hope that was uniquely Emma's. He must have proven himself somehow, earned her trust completely, or he wouldn't have this platinum band that somehow he just _knew_ that she had placed on his finger during a rooftop ceremony at sunset.

 _For all eternity_.

The memory of a promise flashed in his mind. He wanted so badly to remember all of it, every detail of their lives together, good and bad. But the true memories seemed to dance at the outskirts of his conscious mind, teasing and taunting him, just out of reach. The false recollections that cluttered his brain still served as too much of a barrier. But there had to be a way. Somehow, he knew that when they found the truth and remembered who they were, whatever scourge had befallen Hope would be defeated. She would wake up, and she would remember too.

He _believed_ it.

 

The house was dark, and Hope was scared. She was still curled up by the cold fireplace, huddled under her blanket. She had flipped through the same book ten times and was now bored with it. She really wanted to go upstairs to her room and select one of the many books from the white shelves in her room. But upstairs was dark, and even if she stood on her tippy-toes to reach all the light switches, she wasn't sure that in this dream world, the lights would even come on. So she stayed in one place, silently being mad at herself for being a scaredy-cat.

It kept getting darker, and she was getting tired.

 

Henry walked into Hope's room somehow balancing a styrofoam to-go container and a paper coffee cup in one arm while his other hand clutched the ribbons of three brightly colored and shiny mylar balloons adorned with the likenesses of Dora the Explorer, Chase from Paw Patrol, and Minnie Mouse.

“Wow, Kid” Emma said, jumping up to take the food and the cup of hot chocolate. “Pretty impressive that you made it all the way up here without an all out pratfall.”

“Thanks,” he replied, and set about tying the balloons to a chair right where Hope would be able to see them when she woke up.

Emma set down the food and hot chocolate and glanced at the door.

“What happened to Killian?” she asked.

“Uh, he had to run an errand,” Henry replied.

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes. Henry didn't withhold the truth from her very often, but his skill at doing so had certainly improved as he'd gotten older. This time, however, she spotted the deception easily.

“Okay,” Emma said, deciding to bide her time to see if she could figure out what her son and her neighbor-slash-friend-slash-possibly the father of her younger child were up to. “Did he say what it was?

Henry shook his head and didn't meet her eyes. “I think it was a work thing. He was going to take a cab over there and then come right back. He said to call him if anything changed with Hope.”

Emma nodded slowly and watched him, trying to gauge whether she should push for more information. It didn't feel right that Killian would leave. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of Hope the whole time he'd been here. She couldn't imagine that he'd chosen to leave the hospital just for a work errand.

Killian and her son were up to something. Emma realized with a start that it may have been related to Killian's theories that he had shared with her the night before, that someone had tampered with his memories. Henry had always been prone to flights of fancy and the desire to believe in stories and magic. Had Killian managed to suck her boy into his fantasies?

But Emma checked herself at that thought. _Were_ they just fantasies? Had she not just experienced the feeling of being in Hope's dream with Killian last night? Had she not heard her little girl screaming for Mommy _and Daddy_ in the dream? She hadn't questioned it then. She had simply known it to be true.

Instead of pressing Henry further, she decided to let it drop. She remembered her decision to trust her gut when it came to Killian, and right now, her gut was telling her that he was off doing something to try to help them.

She hoped that he would be careful. She couldn't believe it, but she was even more worried than she was before . Apparently, when it came to the people you loved, your capacity for fear was infinite.

Henry opened his laptop and worked on it quietly. Emma kept her vigil next to Hope, and as the hours passed, she continued to chat to her about whatever thought popped into her head. Hope remained peaceful, and her expression never changed.

It was early afternoon when Emma's phone rang. She grabbed it off the tray by Hope's bed and was shocked to see that the caller ID showed the Maine number from which David Nolan had called the day before.

Giving Hope's hand a goodbye squeeze and glancing at Henry, she excused herself from the room and stepped out in the hallway to take the call.

“Hello?” she answered curtly.

“Emma?” The man's voice on the other end was awestruck, like he couldn't believe he was talking to _the_ Emma Swan. She'd be lying if it she said it didn't touch her a little.

“Yeah, this is Emma,” she said firmly. “Why are you calling again?”

She heard him take a breath and gather himself. “So you got my message yesterday?”

“Yep,” Emma replied impatiently. “You're David Nolan. Supposedly we know each other even though I don't remember. Oh, and we're in danger.” She paused, her rage was building, but she didn't care. “Who are you, really? Why would call me and tell me this bullshit? I tried to track you down, you know. Made up town. Phone that must be a burner. What the hell is your angle? Extortion? I don't have any money.”

“Emma, I don't want anything from you except for you and your family to be safe,” Nolan replied calmly. He was good at the sincerity bit; she had to give him credit for that. She waited for more.

“Look, Emma,” Nolan continued. “I know that what I'm about to say is going to sound crazy to you, but please just give me a chance to explain. You live in a town called Storybrooke, Maine. It's a unique town, and there are reasons why it's not on any map. You're actually the sheriff here. Your husband is a man named Killian Jones, and the two of you have a daughter named Hope. Henry's father's name was Neal, but he died years ago. Someone has driven you out of Storybrooke and taken your memories because they want to take something from Hope. It's hard for me to explain, but she is special. She has...power. Someone wants that power, and they may be using dream manipulation to get it.”

“How can you expect me to believe any of this?” Emma whispered. She was stunned, not just by the craziness of David Nolan's explanation, but because on some level, all of it felt  _true_.

“Emma,” he went on. “I know that you probably feel like you've been alone your whole life; that you've been let down by people that should have been there for you. And that feeling is real. Life's been unfair to you, and you've had to be a fighter since you were a young child. I'm sorry for that. But I want you to know, that for the past seven years, you haven't been alone. You found your family, and you made your own. Believing that right now, believing _in_ that, might be the key to helping Hope.”

Emma couldn't speak. This man sounded so sincere. Her internal lie detector screamed at her that he was telling the truth. She sighed, fighting tears, and glanced back through the doorway into Hope's room.

“She's asleep,” she said thickly. “She won't wake up. We brought her to the hospital, but the doctors...well, they have no idea what the hell is wrong with her.”

“Oh, Emma,” he replied, suddenly sounding near tears himself.

“Look, I don't know you, but you say you want to help me, so do it. If you know something, anything about what's wrong with my daughter, please tell me!” She was crying now, and she was pissed at the situation for making her so desperate that she'd be on the phone pleading with a stranger. She sniffed and looked at the ceiling, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her left hand and willing the tears away.

As she gathered herself, one of the nurses walked past her into Hope's room, giving Emma a nod and mouthing “checking vitals.” Emma tried to muster a smile and nodded back. She supposed that it wasn't that weird for the mom of an unconscious child to be on the phone crying. The nurse had thought nothing of it, even though with the conversation she was having, Emma felt like she was trapped in an episode of “The Twilight Zone.”

After a pause and a long sigh, David finally answered her. “This won't make sense to you right now, but the only thing that might help her is, well, a kiss.”

Emma snorted. She felt a maniacal laugh bubble up in her throat, but she quelled it because Nolan still sounded so genuine.

Instead she said, “So, I'm supposed to just kiss her and make it better? Thanks for the tip, buddy. I've kissed her a hundred times since she's been in here. More.”

He sputtered, “I know, I'm sorry for how this sounds. But it has to be, well, it has to be an act of true love and the purest belief. I'm not sure, because you already know she's your daughter, and you're so entrenched in this reality. It must not work from you...”

Emma was listening to him, trying to understand, when she saw one of Hope's doctors, Dr. Wallace she thought, a balding man in his early fifties who always seemed bored, walking towards the room at a more-brisk-than-normal pace. He stopped outside Hope's door and gestured for to Emma to join him.

“I have to go...” she said absently to Nolan, and hung up, cutting him off as he was trying to blurt out more about true love and kisses. Emma entered the room and stood beside Hope's bed. She tried to tell herself that her little girl didn't look paler than before.

On the other side of the bed, Dr. Wallace conferred briefly with the nurse who had checked Hope's vitals. Then he turned to Emma. Henry closed his laptop and stood to listen. He walked over to Emma and placed his arm around her back.

“So,” the doctor said drily, “unfortunately, Hope's vitals are continuing to deteriorate. Her blood pressure, pulse, and the amount of oxygen in her blood have all dropped in the past couple of hours. I'm going to order another round of tests, including a full CT scan to make sure we haven't missed anything. We'll also need to do a spinal tap.”

Emma placed her hand protectively on Hope's arm. She knew her little girl was unconscious, but she still hated the idea of having them stick a giant needle into her spine.

She pressed the doctor further on what they would be looking for with those tests, and he rattled off a bunch of terrifying-sounding diagnoses. Finally, he looked at Emma solemnly and said that, if Hope's vitals continued to drop, she would need to be intubated and put on a ventilator.

Emma couldn't help but conjure in her mind the image of a doctor sticking a tube down Hope's throat. A wave of horror washed over her as she thought of her vibrant little girl lying there, lifeless, hooked up to machines that were breathing for her.

How in the goddamn fucking hell had this happened? For Henry's sake, she choked back the sobs that threatened to overtake her and nodded at the doctor.

Dr. Wallace and the nurse left, promising that someone would be back soon to take Hope for her tests. Emma nodded numbly. She was shaking and felt sick to her stomach.

“Mom,” Henry said. “It's going to be okay. She's going to wake up.”

“I know, Kid,” Emma said, clinging desperately to his optimism. Then she added, her voice cracking, “If you have any creative ideas on how to wake her up now, I'm listening.”

Henry furrowed his brow, and she was sorry she'd said it. Keeping hold of Hope's cool little left hand, Emma wrapped Henry into an embrace. She felt the boy let out a shaky sigh. Then he stepped back suddenly.

“Killian,” he said, and Emma noticed the note of excitement in his voice. What did Henry know? Could Killian help in some way?

She released Henry and turned to the door to look at Killian. Any flicker of hope she'd felt at his arrival disappeared when she saw his face. It was drawn and sad, and his eyes were rimmed with red.

“So no change then,” he asked quietly, stepping just inside the door.

Emma shook her head. “No. No, actually, she's getting worse.” Her voice was raw, and the last word came out as a croak. She added, “They might have to put her on a ventilator.”

Killian closed his eyes for a moment at that. He looked devastated. He walked over to the bed, and Emma took a step down toward the foot of it so that he could be by Hope's head. He reached out with his hand and stroked her hair. “I'm so very sorry, little love,” he said sadly.

“So she didn't tell you anything?” Henry asked suddenly.

Killian glanced guiltily at Emma and then shook his head. “She was gone. There was no sign of her in her apartment,” he said.

“Who's gone?” Emma asked. “What are you two up to?”

Killian sighed. “Emma, I don't want to upset you or make you think that I've influenced Henry towards believing in crazy theories, but we both have reason to believe that Mrs. Xavier is not who she claims to be, and that she is responsible for Hope's condition.”

Emma suddenly felt like crying again. She rubbed her eyes with her hands and took a deep breath. Having regained some calm, she removed her hands and looked from Killian to Henry. “You guys,” she said. “I know this is awful, and that we don't know what is wrong with Hope, but how in the world could the weird old lady downstairs be responsible?”

“I think she's a witch,” Henry said boldly. “The butterfly jar she gave Hope is cursed, or something, and it was giving Hope nightmares. She only had the dreams when it was in the same room with her. And last night, Mom, it was glowing! You believed me. You threw it across the room!”

Emma winced. She remembered the night before and the terror she'd felt. There had been a weird energy in her room, something dark and sinister, and for an instant, she'd believed it had been emanating from the butterfly.

Before she could respond, Killian chimed in. “Emma, she did something to me before I fell. Something to make sure that I would be dizzy and disoriented. I'm sure of it. And now she's gone. I went to her apartment, and she's not there.”

Emma tried to hold onto rationality, but it was tough. “She could be at the freakin' beauty salon!” she cried.

Killian turned away from Hope to look at Emma and Henry. He shook his head and gently touched Emma's arm. “Emma please,” he said. “I believe that she fled because she got what she needed. Swan, I think that there's more to this. There are too many coincidences. Something very strange has happened to Hope, to all of us.”

Emma searched his eyes, certain she would find the lie this time or proof that he was crazy. But in that sea of brilliant, tear-shined blue she saw only Killian. Sincere, passionate, and _good_ Killian. She wanted to believe him, but it was too much. What was she supposed to think?

“Mom,” Henry said from behind her. He brought his laptop to the rolling tray table at the foot of Hope's bed and opened it.

She looked and listened as intently as she could, struggling to understand Henry's story about the boy at the New York Public Library who believed in magic. She leaned down and squinted at the four-year-old Facebook posts on the screen. It was Henry in the picture, right? It looked just like him. But they hadn't gone to New York the year the photos were taken. And the other picture was clearly Killian and...her.

She stared at it, trying to make it make sense, then she looked up at Killian. He just smiled slightly and nodded, and she knew that he was willing her to believe. To understand something important.

She stood up straight and reached out to steady herself on the side of Hope's bed. On her right, Killian reached out and gently placed his hook on the small of her back to help steady her.

“That can't be real,” she breathed, finally. She wasn't looking at either of the men as she said it.

Emma's rational mind and her natural cynicism were screaming in her head. The pictures were photoshopped, the voices said. You can't trust Killian, or David Nolan. People let you down, they always have. Don't believe that anything special, anything miraculous can happen to you. You'll only be disappointed.

But when she looked at Hope's face, even as the disbelieving voices echoed in her head, she wondered what it would mean if all the things that those pictures conveyed were true.

Their memories had been altered.

They had known Killian for _years_.

He could really be Hope's father.

Magic was real.

Something _magical_ was keeping Hope asleep.

She looked away from Hope and over to Killian. “Even if I did believe that all this was true,” she said quietly, “where does that get us? You think Mrs. X is to blame, but she's gone, right?”

“Aye, it appears so.”

Emma thought a moment; her mind was buzzing with conflict and stress. “I could call in a silver alert. Say we have a missing senior who might be disoriented. She might be spotted and picked up. But I just don't think Hope has that kind of time.” She pushed her hands through her hair. She felt like tearing it out.

The doctors couldn't help them. She knew it in her gut. Now they had a crazy theory contingent on finding an old lady that might be a witch.

She looked at Killian, and saw him again looking worriedly at Hope. “No, I don't believe that we do,” he said softly.

Emma stepped closer to him so that they were standing shoulder to shoulder, looking at Hope. He stroked the little girl's hair. Emma realized in that moment, that if she was sure of anything at all, she was sure that Killian Jones loved her daughter.

Emma gently took her daughter's hand. She tried, once and for all, to shut out her rational mind and just _feel_ what the right answer was.

“An act of true love,” she said suddenly.

Killian and Henry both looked at her sharply. She shook her head, as if clearing the cobwebs. “Before the doctor came in, David Nolan called again and said that he might know how to help Hope. That she needed something....” She struggled to recall his exact words. “Belief, he said. An act of true love.” She rolled her eyes a little at the last part, even as they filled with tears again.

Killian and Henry were still staring at her.

Then Henry nodded slowly. “It's like in a story or a movie,” he said. “An act of true love can break any curse. Can that be real?”

Without thinking, Emma turned to Killian and looked him in the eyes. “You,” she said, praying that he would somehow know what she meant.

He looked scared, sad, and desperate. “Me?” he began, “I don't know what I can—"

“Killian, do you believe that Hope is your daughter?” she interrupted.

“Swan,” he replied with a pleading note. He was hesitating, and she knew it was because he remembered their conversation from the night before. She'd rejected his theories, hadn't believed him when he said that his memories had been altered. She'd pushed him away, and now he was afraid to be honest again.

So she turned toward him fully and placed her hands on either side of his face.

“Killian, please tell me the truth. I promise that I will believe you this time.”

He nodded, and she took a ragged breath before continuing. “Do you believe that Hope is your daughter? That, somehow...I'm your wife?” She was about to cry, and she barely got the last three words out.

She watched his eyes fill with tears. One slipped out and slid down his cheek over the scar he wore there. She gently brushed it away with her thumb. “It's okay,” she whispered.

In that instant, as if they had some magical synchronicity, they both leaned forward slightly, just enough so that their foreheads touched. Emma closed her eyes and allowed herself to revel in the sensation of such honest, intimate contact with him. She inhaled, breathing in the unique sea air scent of his skin. This felt right. It felt so  _familiar_.

When he pulled back, she opened her eyes to meet his and found hope and bravery there. She smiled a little and nodded, reassuring him one last time that it was okay to tell the truth.

“I do believe that, Swan. I believe all of it,” he whispered.

“Good,” she replied. He smiled a little at that.

Emma glanced behind her at Henry and gave him as much of a smile as she could. He was watching them with wonder, and with hope. Emma turned back to look at her daughter. She reached down and took the little girl's lifeless hand once again. She nodded slightly towards Hope and said to Killian, “Now tell our little girl.”

Killian still looked a little dazed and awestruck that this was really happening. But she saw his expression shift to one of resolve as he turned from her to look at Hope's sweet little sleeping face. He leaned close to the girl and once again gently stroked her hair.

Emma reached down with her free hand and took hold of his hook, offering support. Henry leaned in close to her, and she let go of Hope to reach around him with her left arm and pull him close.

Now they were all connected.

Killian took a deep breath before he spoke. “Little lass,” he began. “My darling Hope, I am so very proud of you. You are the strongest, bravest person I've ever met, and also the smartest. None of us could see the truth but you. You knew it all along. You were right, little love. I am your daddy.” His voice broke, and he paused, squeezing his eyes shut. Emma watched his chest and shoulders shake. Tears were streaming down her own face, and her heart was breaking. But she _believed_ in this. This was going to work.

Killian took another deep breath and regained his voice. “We all believe it, love. We know that we belong together. But we can't be together, not really, unless you're awake. Please come back to us.”

He glanced back at Emma and Henry. Emma tightened her grip on both of them and nodded through her tears, silently telling him that he was doing amazing. Perfect.

He smiled slightly and looked down at Hope again. There was such adoration in his gaze. “You are going to lead a brilliant, spectacular life, love. You will slay every dragon you meet, just like your mum. And we'll all be here to cheer you on. But you have to wake up. Come back to me. I love you, Hope.”

He leaned down and gently kissed Hope's forehead.

There was a sudden flash of light, and a shockwave emanated from the bed. Emma closed her eyes reflexively and felt her hair fly back from the force. She tightened her grip on Henry who was unsteady on his feet beside her.

Her mind flooded with memories. It all came rushing back in an instant, so fast that she only had impressions, flashes. Her life. Storybrooke. Her family.

Lingering a bit longer, but still only a second or two, were two memories.

The first, was of her in a hospital bed, handcuffed to the sides of it. The doctor had given her one last chance, but she had turned away, crying that she couldn't be a mother. She hadn't looked at her son.

It wasn't the first time she had been deceived into believing that she had raised Henry instead of giving him up. In that instant, she knew that the pain of the true memory would be just as great as it was the first time it returned to her years ago in New York. She could handle it though. She and Henry had overcome all of that.

In the second memory that stood out, she was in a different hospital bed. This time there were no handcuffs, and Killian was next to her, his expression awestruck. A nurse was handing Emma a small bundle in a pink, white and blue blanket. She gently cradled her newborn daughter and looked down to see her tiny, perfect scrunched up face. And even though the baby's eyes squinted at the light, Emma could see that they were ocean blue. But when she tearfully looked up to her husband's matching set of blue eyes, she saw that they were full of fear...

The flood of memories stopped. When Emma opened her eyes, she saw that Killian was crying openly now. Only this time, they were tears of joy, because Hope had opened her eyes. The little girl blinked, and slowly smiled. She reached up for her father and threw her tiny arms around his neck. He leaned down and gently embraced her in return.

At the sight, Emma let out a laugh that was partly a sob. Keeping his face nuzzled into the pillow by Hope's head, Killian raised his left arm and pulled Emma into the hug so that the three of them were hugging and crying together. Henry scurried around to the other side of the bed, and Hope released her parents so that she could throw her arms around her brother.

Emma stood up straight and laughed openly through her tears as she watched her children embrace, whispering “I knew you could do it” to each other as they hugged. Keeping her left hand on her daughter, Emma grabbed her husband by the shoulder and turned him to face her.

His tear stained face was exhausted, but happily awestruck.

“You, Killian,” she said, standing on her tiptoes slightly to look him in the eye. “You did this.”

Despite his fatigue and the overwhelming emotions, he managed to raise a cocky eyebrow at her. “Did you ever doubt me, love?”

She shook her head as she wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him into a hard kiss, their lips crashing into each other at first, but then fitting together like always. The kiss softened and she felt him grin into it. They were home.

“Gross, guys,” Henry teased. He was standing again, gripping Hope's hand. They were both staring at Emma and Killian and grinning.

Killian returned their wide grins, and Emma rolled her eyes. She stepped in front of her husband slightly and went into full “mom” mode with Hope. Despite the machines monitoring the little girl, Emma knew now that she'd be able to determine her daughter's health with a look, a touch, and some questions.

The curse was broken. She was awake. They remembered.

They'd done it.

Emma frowned as she felt Hope's forehead and took the little girl's face in her hands.

“How do you feel, sweetheart?”

“Good, mom. Not sick,” was Hope's brave reply. But Emma didn't miss the quiver in the girl's little lip.

Killian's hand was on Emma's hip, and she felt him tense just slightly as he came to the same realization that she had.

“But your magic...” Emma began.

“Yeah,” Hope replied sadly. “I think it's all gone.”

The next two hours passed in a blur. Emma dealt with the doctors and their questions. They were cautiously optimistic about Hope, but they still wanted to run more tests to pinpoint a cause of her prior unconsciousness. Emma tried to keep her cool as she explained to them that she knew that Hope was fine, that nothing was medically wrong with her.

Dr. Li returned shortly after Hope woke up and took Emma's side with the other doctors, asserting to them that Hope's condition could have been anxiety-related, not physical, and that she would follow up with the family immediately after the child's release.

When the other doctors relented and agreed to let Hope be discharged, Killian ran to the bed to high-five Hope, while Emma thanked Dr. Li.

“Trust me,” the psychologist said, “You don't want them deciding they still want a spinal tap.” She rolled her eyes, and before she left, she promised to have her receptionist call Emma to make an appointment for the next day, Wednesday, or Thursday. Emma grimaced a little with guilt as she realized that by then, they'd be long gone.

After he'd greeted Hope, Henry had immediately gone out into the hall to call Regina. Emma could imagine how elated the woman must have been to hear from Henry, and she was struck with a wave of guilt at having kept him away for so long. It had been Regina's idea for them to leave, though, she remembered. Hopefully, Henry's safe return would be enough to quash any lingering resentment the mayor might have about her son's long absence.

In between meeting with doctors, Emma had called David. When she told him that she remembered everything and that Hope was awake, he whooped with joy, and Emma couldn't suppress her own happy tears at hearing her father so delighted. David's celebration brought Emma's mother to the phone as well. Emma couldn't keep the goofy grin off of her face as she spoke to them. As hard as it had been to remember that she hadn't in fact raised Henry from birth, it sure was nice to recall that, like Henry had found her, she had found her parents too. Remembering that they adored her and were a huge part of her life filled Emma's heart with joy.

David and Snow updated Emma on what they had learned about the witch, Xanathusa. When Emma told them that she appeared to have fled Boston with Hope's magic, her parents assured her that they would know the instant she set foot in Storybrooke, and that Regina and Zelena were prepared to capture her.

For his part, Killian stayed by Hope's side. He climbed into her hospital bed so that they could cuddle, and he let Hope hold the TV remote so that she could flip through the channels. When she finally gave up on finding something interesting, Killian turned off the TV and pulled her back against his shoulder. Emma watched with a smile as Hope snuggled into him, and he leaned down to kiss the top of her golden head.

Henry had gone off to the cafeteria to find something that might pass for both lunch and dinner. The doctors had left them alone, promising that someone would return soon with the release paperwork. So Emma sighed tiredly and sat down in the chair next to Hope's bed, on the opposite side from which Killian rested. His right arm was wrapped around the little girl, and Emma took his hand, twining their fingers together. He looked down at her with that adoring, just slightly saucy look that he saved only for her. Emma took Hope's little right hand with her other hand, and the family sat quietly for a few moments.

Emma watched Hope's face carefully, afraid that the girl might nod off to sleep. She knew that the curse was broken, but she didn't think she was ready to face the fear of Hope falling asleep again. But something in the girl's expression made Emma realize that she wasn't sleepy, she was thinking.

“What is it, sweetie?” Emma asked her.

Hope shrugged. “I don't know,” she said. “Just thinkin' about my magic.”

Emma felt Killian tighten his embrace around their daughter.

Emma tried to keep her tone nonchalant when she responded. Nothing caused a child to clam up faster about an uncomfortable subject than obvious, excessive interest from her parents. “Oh yeah?” she said. “What about it.”

Hope again shrugged charmingly, but her tone was sad. “Just, I don't know. Where it went. Am I gonna get it back. It feels kind of weird now.”

Emma exchanged a worried glance with Killian. She sighed before replying. “I know, sweetheart. I lost my magic once too, or I thought I did. Maybe it wasn't really gone.” She looked quickly at Killian again, remembering the feel of her knees on the cold, hard ground as she knelt beside his lifeless body. The sensation of her warm lips touching his ice cold ones that were already turning blue. She had breathed life back into him.

“But it felt weird,” Emma continued. “Even though I hadn't known for very long that I even had magic, I still kind of missed it. It's okay to miss yours too. But we're going to get it back.”

Hope nodded, but she looked unsure.

“Don't worry, darling,” Killian added, addressing Hope. “In the meantime, you still have other qualities that are even more important than your magic. You're still smart, and strong, and brave, just like Mommy. In fact, your mother and I went on one of our greatest adventures during the time she thought she had lost her magic. It didn't slow her down. She still saved us.” He winked at Emma, and she grinned back at him.

Hope sighed. “Okay, I _guess_ that's true,” Hope conceded, and her parents chuckled.

It was after five when a resident finally returned with discharge paperwork. Emma nodded as the young doctor walked her through it, and she agreed to watch for any warning signs of further illness in Hope.

Killian and Emma had gotten Hope dressed, and while Emma spoke with the doctor, she bounced around the room happily with her balloons. There was very little space, but it didn't stop her from taking a few steps and leaping up in the air, hoping that the balloons would carry her up to the ceiling. Killian kept reminding her to be careful not to bump into the furniture, but Emma saw that he couldn't keep the smile of his face.

Even the resident seemed to be working to try to suppress a smirk at the little girl's efforts.

Once the doctor left, Emma put in another call to David as Killian, Henry, and Hope gathered their stuff in preparation to leave.

According to David, there had been no sign of the witch yet that evening, but he assured Emma that they were ready for her. As usual, she couldn't help but believe him.

They agreed that given that neither Emma nor Killian had slept much the night before, they would stay in Boston that night and head back to Storybrooke very early in the morning. David assured her that they had it covered on their end. They would know the minute Xanathusa entered Storybrooke. He told her that he loved her, and to kiss Hope and Henry for him. “And Killian?” Emma couldn't help but tease, glancing at her husband, who cocked a questioning eyebrow at her.

She could almost hear David grinning on the other end of the line. “How about a nice hearty pat on the back?” he replied with a chuckle.

After she hung up, Emma felt a little torn. She wanted to be there to confront the witch herself, but she also knew how exhausted her family was after their ordeal. Regina and Zelena were better equipped to trap the witch.

Still, Emma couldn't wait to confront her.

They left the hospital clustered together. Hope had insisted on holding her balloons, so Henry had wisely tied them around her wrist so that they wouldn't float away into the evening sky the moment his sister relaxed her grip on the ribbons.

Killian carried Hope through the long hallways and out to the parking lot. Emma worried that he was overdoing it given his injuries, but she also knew that there was no point in offering to take their girl from him. As they walked, Emma kept her hand on Killian's arm. After their time spent as strangers, she felt an almost magnetic pull towards him and loathed to go more than a few minutes without physical contact. She had a similar impulse with Hope. She kept getting in the poor little girl's face, peering into her eyes and checking her temperature with the back of her hand until finally Hope said “I'm okay, Mom!” with an exasperated sigh.

They reached the car, strapped Hope into her carseat, and loaded up their stuff. Emma felt herself exhale with relief as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot. Killian must have noticed too, because he gently placed his hook on her leg and gave her an empathetic smile.

As they turned onto the Riverway heading home, Emma suggested that they stop to pick up a late dinner, since only Henry had managed to eat that afternoon at the hospital.

“What does everyone feel like?” Emma asked her family.

“Ummm...cupcakes!!” Hope cried.

Emma couldn't suppress a snort of laughter. That was her girl.

Killian turned to the backseat and raised an eyebrow at Hope. “Love, we need to eat something at little bit _healthy_ for supper.”

“Hmm,” Hope replied thoughtfully. “How about we just take the good stuff out of the healthy food and put it in the cupcakes!”

They all laughed, and Emma agreed that would be nice. In the end, she double parked on Beacon Street, and Killian and Henry ran into the shawarma place to pick up take out. She knew that, at the very least, Hope would eat some of the homemade hummus and pita.

If she found herself pulling into a nearby Star Market a few minutes later so that Killian could pop into the bakery for a package of cupcakes, well, they all deserved a little celebration.

When they got back to the apartment, the first thing that Emma did was head to her bedroom and pick up the butterfly jar. It was broken once again due to Emma's rough treatment from the night before. Just to be sure, she placed it back on the floor and stomped on it with her boot, cracking the plastic jar into pieces. She picked it up, pulled out the silken butterfly, and roughly plucked off its wings.

When she trudged back through the apartment and went out the door on her way to take the offending item to the trash chute at the end of the hallway, none of the others questioned her.

Their euphoria at being back together, really together, with all of their memories in tact, continued to counteract their exhaustion as they sat down to dinner. Killian told silly, G-rated stories about the crazy doctor that had once travelled as part of his crew on the Jolly Roger. Apparently, the man's favorite treatment for any illness or injury was simply to hit the afflicted part of the body with a mallet, the logic being that the blow would knock that part back into working order. Hope spit out her milk with giggles as Killian imitated Mr. Smee being knocked unconscious by the man as treatment for a minor bump on he'd sustained on his head.

Emma was still worried about how they would get Hope's magic back, but she put her fear aside and was able to enjoy the moment. She continued to reach for Killian whenever she had the chance, clasping his arm or his hand during the few moments when neither one of them was occupied with eating or helping Hope.

After dinner, Henry cleaned up the dishes. Emma was desperate to wash all the hospital germs off of Hope, so she and Killian gave their little girl a bath. They were cramped kneeling on the floor in the apartment's tiny bathroom. They had much more space in their master bathroom back at home. Still, to Emma it felt wonderfully routine and normal. She knew from experience that they would be living with dual memories for a while, but that eventually the false ones would fade so much that they would only seem like particularly vivid dreams.

When they pulled Hope out of the tub, Killian wrapped her in a big fluffy towel to dry her off. He gave her a hug and a kiss, and handed her over to Emma, who began to brush the tangles out of Hope's wet hair. Emma told Killian to go across the hall to his apartment to change and gather what he needed for the night that he would spend with them at Emma's place.

“As you wish,” he replied with a smile and a slight raise of that bloody eyebrow, and she grinned back at him.

As Emma got Hope changed into her favorite pajamas, she saw the girl yawn deeply. Emma smiled and kissed her daughter's forehead. “Bedtime soon, sweetheart,” she said.

Killian had only been gone for about five minutes before there was a knock on the door. Emma sent Henry and Hope off to brush their teeth and went to answer it.

“You know, you don't have to knock,” she told Killian with a smile and a roll of her eyes when she saw that it had been him who had knocked.

He stepped inside and placed his duffle bag down on the floor. “Aye, I suppose,” he replied. “But it seemed good form.” He scratched behind his ear nervously. He was in his stocking feet and wearing sleep pants and a T-shirt. She could tell he felt awkward.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him farther into the apartment. Then she stood up on her toes and kissed him lightly. He returned the kiss, his lips opening just slightly to capture her bottom one, and she felt his chest hitch with emotion. But he pulled back, glancing nervously down the hallway toward the bedrooms as if he was worried that the kids would appear and catch them.

“It's weird, isn't it?” Emma said after they parted. “Having the the two sets of memories. You've never experienced that before.”

“Aye. Of course I know that we've been together for years,” he replied. “But I have the memories of the man who just met you all. I still feel honored just to be invited into your home.”

She squeezed his hand tightly. “You belong here, Captain!” she told him happily. “You're home is with us, wherever _we_ are. The fake memories will fade, I promise.” She searched his eyes, trying to make sure that he understood. That he could relax because he was home.

He satisfied her with a small smile and nod, and she squeezed his hand. “Now come help me put Hope to bed,” she said. “We have to get up and out early tomorrow.”

They found Hope and Henry in their room, and Emma quizzed them about the thoroughness of their teeth-brushing. Henry rolled his eyes at that and assured her that they'd both brushed and flossed.

Hope walked over to Killian, who stood in the bedroom's doorway, and took his hand. “Can I sleep with you guys tonight?” she asked him. After only a quick glance at Emma to confirm that was indeed the plan, he replied, “Aye, love, of course. I'm not letting you out of my sight again. Come on along.” He scooped her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, and she flung her arms around his neck. “Goodnight, lad,” Killian told Henry. “Thank you. Thanks for everything. Today and always.”

Henry smiled and nodded. “Goodnight, Killian,” he replied. “See you bright and early.”

Killian and Hope departed for Emma's room, and Emma appraised her son. “You're pretty amazing, you know?” she told him. “You and your stepdad figured everything out before I did.”

“Well, you kind of had your hands full,” Henry replied with a smirk.

“Still, that was some A-plus research you did. You helped us find our way back. Thank you.”

Henry shrugged, and he looked embarrassed but pleased. “What time should I set my alarm for?” he asked.

Emma sighed. “Early,” she replied. “Maybe five?” She groaned even as she suggested it, but Henry was unfazed.

“Okay, cool,” he said. “We'll get that witch, Mom. My mom and Zelena will find her, just like Grandpa said. We'll get Hope's magic back.”

“I know, Kid. I do. Goodnight.”

She gave him a quick hug and headed to her room.

She found, as she had once before in this apartment and many, many other times in their home, Killian cuddling with Hope and singing her to sleep.

_You say you'll give me a highway with no one on it_

_A treasure just to look upon it_

_All the riches in the night_

_You say you'll give me eyes in a world of blindness_

_A river in a time of dryness_

_A harbor in the tempest_

_And all the promises we made_

_From the cradle to the grave_

_When all I want is you_

God, his voice, Emma thought. It wasn't enough that her husband was smart, funny, and handsome as hell, but some deity had also seen fit to give him the voice of an angel. No wonder Hope had asked for this tonight instead of a story.

Emma climbed onto her side of the bed and snuggled up against Hope's left side. She closed her eyes and just listened to the rest of the song. When it was over, she opened one eye and peeked at Hope to see if she was asleep yet. She found that the girl also had one eye open and was peeking back at Emma. “Goodnight, Mom and Dad,” she whispered.

“Goodnight, baby,” Emma replied.

Hope closed her eyes and nestled into the pillow. Killian, laying on his left side, closed his eyes and nuzzled the girl's hair, seeming to just want to breathe her in now that she was back where she belonged. He reached his hand across their daughter's tiny body and took Emma's hand, stroking it gently with his thumb.

Emma waited until they felt the familiar rhythm of Hope's even breathing. When she was sure that their daughter was asleep, _normal_ asleep, she spoke softly to Killian.

“Do you remember the day Hope was born?” she asked him.

“Aye love, of course,” he replied, and she could hear the curiosity in his voice.

“Do you remember how scared you were to hold her in the delivery room? Even though you'd put the guard on your hook already. You still didn't want to take her when I tried to give her to you.”

“I do,” he said sadly. She blinked, her heart twisting at the pain in his voice. She hadn't meant to embarrass him or bring up a painful memory. “And do you remember what happened?” she hurriedly continued. “What Hope did?”

In the dim room, across the bed, she thought she could see him smile slightly. “She reached out for me. When I hesitated to take her, she got her little arm free and tried to touch my face.”

Emma felt tears well in her eyes at the memory. “She did,” she said. “She  _knew_ you. She knew that, even if you doubted yourself in that moment, you would never hurt her. You would always protect her.”

He was quiet, remembering.

“Well, I think she did the same thing here,” Emma continued. “We were split up, but she still knew that she needed you, so she reached out to you. You moved in across the hall. You became our friend. She pulled you into her dreams.”

“You think, what, that was all part of her power?” he said thickly.

She squeezed his hand as tightly as she could. “I think it was part of _our_ power,” she replied. “What we have between all four of us."

She saw him nod in the darkness. “Aye love, I believe that you may be right,” he replied.

They were warm, and safe, and together, and sleep came quickly.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hopefully some of the fluff in this chapter made up for the angst that came before! This family deserves a few moments of peace.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we find ourselves at the end. Please enjoy this final chapter. I do hope to update with an epilogue eventually, so stay tuned for that. 
> 
> There is some mild steaminess towards the beginning of this chapter. I hope nobody minds! ; )

Xanathusa lurked just outside of the Storybrooke town line until the darkest predawn hours. She had no way of knowing whether the residents of the town expected her return, or if they had any way of detecting her. But, in her short time doing battle with the people of Storybrooke, particularly the former Evil Queen and the Wicked Witch, she had learned not to underestimate her enemies.

Tragically, she wasn't in possession of any of Hope Swan-Jones' magic, and her own magic was not strong enough to work outside the border of the little magical town. She had no way of detecting any protection or alarm spells that might be present at the town line.

Still, she had her senses and her instincts, and she had a feeling that someone in Storybrooke would know the moment she crossed over.

She would have to be crafty, and she would have to work fast. She needed to find a means for opening a portal back to the fairies' realm. In her original plan, she had counted on having the girl's magic with her if and when she returned to Storybrooke to make an escape. Now, she was no stronger than she had been when she first battled the heroes that lived here. She would need to sneak past them to find a bean or a wand that would open a portal.

Finally, when she judged that it was as dark and quiet as it was going to get, she crossed over. She immediately felt the charge of magic in the town's air, and she breathed deeply, taking in the energy so that it suffused her every cell.

She thought back to the time she'd spent in the town and pictured the faces of some of the insufferable residents. Which of them would be least likely to arouse suspicion if he or she was lurking about in the early morning hours? She remembered a swarthy man in a wool beanie and a flannel shirt. He was one of the dwarves and an obvious drunk. He'd certainly be the kind of person that could conceivably be out late, wandering home from some decrepit watering hole.

She closed her eyes and focused her energy, and suddenly her appearance transformed into that of the dwarf, Leroy. Slowly, adopting a slightly wobbly gait as if she were drunk, she made her way towards the center of town.

She'd start with the pawn shop.

 

Killian had always been an early riser, but when he opened his eyes this morning, he knew right away that it was still ridiculously early. The sky outside Emma's window was still dark, and he didn't detect any hints of predawn light just yet. Still, he felt perfectly awake. And, better still, he was happy.

His head rested on the pillow beside that of his daughter. Next to her lay his wife, her golden waves spread out behind her on her own pillow. His right arm lay across both of them, his palm gently holding the side of Emma's slender waist. This was a familiar configuration for them. He and Emma were generous about letting Hope join them in their big bed on nights when she was scared or lonely. The only thing that felt strange was that this was the first time he'd ever slept in this particular bed in this particular apartment.

He stayed as still as he could and listened to their breathing, recognizing it as that of deep and normal sleep. He gently removed his hand from Emma's waist and carefully brushed Hope's hair off of her forehead. He sat up gingerly and took one more look at his girls, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face. He knew that they still had work to do, but he also knew from experience that they could beat any foe as long as they were together.

With that thought, he grabbed his duffle bag off the floor and headed to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

 

Emma opened her eyes slowly, relishing the feel of the last few moments of contented sleep. As she gained consciousness, she became fully aware of her daughter sleeping next to her. Irrationally worried that the curse might have returned, she placed her palm on Hope's tiny chest and made sure that the girl's breathing felt normal and steady. She gently touched her daughter's face with her fingertips and noted the little flutter of Hope's eyelashes. Emma sighed, satisfied that she'd be able to wake her up when she needed to.

She was also aware that Killian was no longer in bed. She felt bereft for a moment, wondering whether he had decided to return to his own apartment. The feeling didn't last, though, as in the predawn quiet she was able to hear the water from the shower in the bathroom at the end of the small hallway.

She relaxed for a minute, enjoying the knowledge that all four of them were together and safe under one roof. She decided to forego getting up to make coffee. They could buy some on the road. She listened to the rhythm of Hope's steady breathing and the sound of running water until she heard the shower shut off.

She couldn't wait any longer. She wanted to see her husband again.

She climbed out of bed and didn't bother putting a robe over her thin pajama pants and sleep tank. She knocked perfunctorily on the bathroom door, then opened it slowly to find Killian just beginning to brush his teeth. One of her towels was wrapped low and tight around his waist.

He cocked a saucy eyebrow at her as she entered. “Morning, Swan,” he said around his toothbrush. “I hope you don't mind me using your shower.”

She'd been with this man for years, but she hadn't seen him like _this_ in nearly two months, and now she was pleasantly dumbstruck as she took in the sight of him. She let her eyes rake over his strong arms, adorned with those few familiar tattoos. Her hands itched to explore the contours of his chest and the hard planes of his stomach. She could spend hours running her fingers through the expanse of dark wet hair that covered his abdomen before disappearing beneath the towel.

In lieu of answering him, she came up behind him and just wrapped her arms around his waist. In the mirror, she saw him pause his brushing and close his eyes, enjoying the feel of her body against him just as much as she did. She gently brushed her lips over one of the familiar scars on the back of his right shoulder blade, and she smirked as she felt his breath hitch in his chest.

She began to explore other spots on his back, leaving a trail of kisses from shoulder blade to shoulder blade before stretching up on her tiptoes so that she could reach his neck. There, she started with a kiss but turned it into gentle sucking, adding a few flicks of her tongue and a graze of her teeth against his soft flesh for good measure. While she did this, her hand crept down his stomach, lower and lower and dangerously close to the tuck that kept his towel in place.

She felt him shudder with pleasure before he finally tossed his toothbrush in the sink.   He turned around and growled, “bloody hell, woman” as he backed her up against the opposite wall and kissed her.

Maybe she had taken things a bit too far, but she certainly wasn't complaining about his reaction. She could feel the evidence of his arousal against her stomach as he worked her mouth with his own. He knew how to drive her crazy with kisses, alternating between gentle sucking of her lips and needy plundering of her mouth with his tongue in a sinful rhythm.

He hadn't fully dried off after his shower, and now that she was pressed against him, her pajamas were wet in the front. Her pebbled nipples rubbed against his bare chest through the thin, damp fabric of her tank top, creating delicious friction as he moved against her. She heard herself moan, even though she knew they needed to be quiet. Her core was pulsing with her own arousal, and she was dying to grab his hand, which was currently gripping her ass, and move it down the front her pants. She was getting to the point of no return. Every cell in her body was electrified with the growing anticipation of the release she knew that he could give her.

Suddenly, they heard an annoying electronic melody coming from the other room, and Emma was able to regain her faculties enough to recognize it as Henry's cell phone alarm. She felt her eyes widen. “Shit!” she cried. “Henry's going to be up!”

Killian stepped back from her, and she looked up to see that he looked as flushed and wrecked as she felt.

The bathroom door was still ajar, so she reached out and pushed it shut as quietly as she could, wincing as the latch clicked.

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Now we both appear to be trapped in here, love,” he noted. “Unless you want some company in the shower. I'd be happy to take another one.”

“God dammit,” Emma muttered. That sounded really good. As it was, she knew that she was going to be taking a quick and bracing cold shower. Alone.

She grabbed the pants Killian had hung on the towel rack and handed them to him. “Get dressed,” she sighed. “I'm going to get in the shower. Maybe you can get out of here before he notices that we were both in here.”

“As you wish,” Killian replied, leaning down slightly to press a gentle kiss to the tip of her nose.

She turned on the water as he pulled on his trousers. She couldn't resist stripping off her pajamas and jumping into the shower while he was still standing there. She peeked out from behind the curtain and watched with a smirk as he stood there for a moment, his mouth agape as he stared at the spot where she had been.  She heard him mutter, “minx,” before he slipped out of the bathroom.

 

Killian stood in the hallway outside the bathroom for moment to try to regain his composure. Thankfully, he heard the sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing and knew that Henry had started his morning off in the kitchen. Once he was fit for polite company, Killian joined the boy.

“Good morning, lad,” he greeted Henry as he stepped into the small kitchen.

“Hey, Killian,” the boy replied. He was tearing open the metal foil packaging of one of those repugnant s'mores flavored pop tarts.

Killian grimaced. “Can I get you a piece of fruit to go with that?” he asked out of habit.

Henry rolled his eyes. Killian smiled as he and the boy easily fell back into their usual dynamic.

“I think we're a little light on groceries,” Henry replied. “Is my mom in the shower?”

“Aye,” Killian replied, hoping that Henry didn't notice the pink tinge he felt warming his cheeks as his mind involuntarily pictured Emma entering said shower just moments ago. “Why don't you pack up whatever you can find for you and your sister to snack on in the car?” he suggested to Henry. “I'll pack a bag for Hope and then wake her to get her ready to go.”

Henry gave him a salute in response and continued to munch on his pop tart.

Killian headed back down the hall and stopped in Emma's room to check on their daughter. Hope was stirring now, no doubt attuned to all the activity in the apartment. Or perhaps she had simply had enough sleep the previous day to last her for a while. He sat down on the side of the bed closest to the door and reached out to gently stroke Hope's arm.

He smiled as he watched her long eyelashes flutter before her eyes opened. She appeared to blink away the cobwebs as the world came into focus, and when her eyes lit upon his face, she broke into a gleeful grin. “Good morning, Daddy!” she cried, sitting up to put her arms around his neck.

“Hello, darling,” he replied as he held her tight. “How did you sleep?”

“Good! No bad dreams,” she answered happily.

“Wonderful news! Are you ready for our next new adventure today?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” she replied.

She climbed out of bed and took his hand. Hope needed to use the bathroom, so he led her to the door and knocked so that Emma, who had just stepped out of the shower, could help her.

Killian went to the kids' room and found Hope's small pink rolling suitcase tucked under her bed. He opened the top drawer of her dresser to look for some suitable clothes for their trip. His heart swelled as he spied some familiar shirts and sweaters. It was such a gift to suddenly remember his daughter and all of their time together. He recalled that she particularly loved a light blue long sleeve shirt with a print of a ship sailing on the ocean, so he grabbed that one and folded it neatly. He found several familiar sweaters that he pulled out and packed in the pink suitcase.

Some of the clothes in the drawers were new. It occurred to him that Hope might have grown in the weeks that they'd been apart. She did look a bit taller now that he considered it. Emma would have had to buy new, larger sizes during her time in Boston. It hit him then that he would never get that time when they were missing their memories back, and his heart twisted with pain at the thought. He resolved in that moment to never be separated from her again, never to miss anything.

At that moment, Hope bounced into her room with Emma following behind in her dressing gown.

“You got this, babe?” Emma asked, looking slightly charmed as she observed his packing progress so far.

“Aye, love. We're good. Go get dressed.”

Hope sidled up to him and helped him pick out the rest of the clothes, which he meticulously folded and placed in her small suitcase. He packed enough for about a week, remembering that they had left clothes back at their house in Storybrooke when they fled town. Yesterday, he and Emma had agreed that they would need to return to Boston after Hope's magic was restored to clear out their apartments and tie up other loose ends.

Once her things were packed, Killian helped Hope to dress in the clothes she had set aside for their trip: a pair of stretchy jeans and a fuzzy red and yellow striped sweater.

Once she was dressed, he gently brushed Hope's soft blonde curls. Then, he selected a red barrette from the box on her bureau and clipped back the long pieces of hair in the front to keep them out of her eyes. He wasn't wearing his brace, so he used his stump to gently hold the hair in place while he fastened the barrette, just like he had done countless times before at home in the years since her hair had started to grow long.

When she was ready, he kissed her forehead and declared that she was “ship shape” for their trip. She smiled so hard back at him that her eyes and her little button nose crinkled adorably, and he thought that he would be happy just to stare at her face forever. He pulled her into one more spontaneous hug, which she returned enthusiastically.

“Come along, darling,” he said. “Let's gather Henry and your mother. Time to go!”

He made a quick detour to the bedroom to grab his hook and brace and reattached it with practiced ease.

“Where's your real hook, Dad?” Hope asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Across the hall,” he replied. “It's a bit, er, large, to wear around the streets of Boston, don't you think?”

She shrugged. “Maybeeeee....” she replied. “You should bring it though.”

“Will do, love,” he assured her with a wink. They were going into battle, after all.

They found Emma and Henry in the kitchen, packing a soft cooler with snacks and their water bottles. Killian left Hope with them and ran back to his own apartment to grab his hook and a few more pieces of clothing to stuff in his duffle bag. He located his old hook, still complete with the bright pink rubber protector, in the shoebox in his closet where he'd left it after his “camping trip” to Maine.

On his way out, he stopped at his coat closet and grabbed his favorite lined leather jacket. Fall weather would have really kicked in up in Maine, and this jacket had proven more practical than his old, thinner one. This one was still black, of course.

When he returned to Emma's he found everyone ready to go. He shouldered his bag and picked up Hope's small suitcase. She smiled back at him as she grabbed Henry's hand so that he could lead her down the stairs. Killian stayed back with Emma as she picked up her own bag and the cooler, stepped out into the hall with him and locked the door.

Killian was surprised to feel a pang of sadness as he looked around at the familiar apartment doors and the dingy, poorly lit hallway. His family had been under a curse during their time here. They had been forced apart, but they had still found each other. They'd had good times, and it was here that he had fallen in love with all of them once again.

Emma was watching him. She gently placed a comforting hand on his arm, but he was still lost in thought. Stepping in front of him, she forced him to meet her eyes.

“Hey,” she said. “Me too. We'll come back here, all of us, for a little family vacation. But now we have to go.”

He nodded, and then leaned his head down to briefly touch her forehead with his own. What a gift it was to have a partner that understood him the way that she did. He swore, not for the first time, never to take her for granted.

“Let's be off then, love,” he said. They followed their kids down the stairs.

 

Xanathusa slowly made her way to the center of town, ambling about like the town drunk she portrayed. When she reached the door of “Gold's Pawn Shop,” she carefully turned and looked back around at the dark, sleepy streets and shops. Satisfied that nobody was watching, she placed her hand up against the door of the shop and felt for the familiar pulse of a protection spell. She felt it immediately. The Dark One was gone, but clearly he hadn't taken everything of value with him.

She concentrated, held her hand in front of the lock, and began to chant a counter spell. She was so deep in concentration that she started like a fool when dual puffs of green and purple smoke appeared on either side of her. She suddenly found herself under the sneering appraisal of the Evil Queen and the Wicked Witch.

“Hello, _Leroy_ ,” the queen ( _Regina_ , Xanathusa recalled) said haughtily. “Did you leave something at Gold's?”

Rather than attempt an excuse that the women clearly weren't going to buy, Xanathusa trusted her power and acted on instinct. She shot her hands out on either side of her, attempting to send a jolt of painful magic to her enemies, but both of them were ready with counter curses. The queen then took a confident step forward and grabbed Xanathusa's wrist, slapping a brown leather cuff on her. She felt her appearance change from that of the dwarf back to that of her true self.

Xanathusa wrenched her arm free of the woman's grip and attempted to curse her again, but to her horror, she realized that her magic had suddenly gone dormant. She tried again, but nothing happened. It must have been the cuff. She felt just as impotent as she had playing the helpless old lady in that dreadful land without magic.

Regina lazily waved her hand toward Xanathusa, magically freezing her where she stood.

The fire-haired Wicked Witch ( _Zelena_ , she remembered) stepped closer to her. “What's the matter, dearie?” she chided. “Did you lose something? We were given to believe that you were in possession of some rather extraordinary magic. Didn't show.” She shrugged and frowned in mock disappointment.

“You know, you're right, sis,” the dark haired woman added. “I really thought she'd put up _much_ more of a fight given what she'd stolen. This wasn't even a challenge.” The haughty queen paused for a moment, looking from Xanathusa to the door of the pawn shop. “Unless,” she began, “you didn't get your claws on that little girl's magic after all. That's why you came to The Dark One's shop, isn't it? You need something here because you don't have Hope's power.”

Xanathusa seethed quietly as the women continued to consider her.

“But if she doesn't have it, where is it?” Zelena wondered.

“So how about it, witch?” Regina began, glaring at Xanathusa. “Why don't you tell us where we can find the magic you stole, and maybe we'll only torture you for a little while?” The arrogant, regal woman waved her hand slightly towards Xanathusa, loosening the freezing spell she'd cast just enough to allow her to talk.

“It's true, I don't have it,” Xanathusa hissed. She took a breath, trying to regain a measure of calm despite her fury at the situation. “But I know where it is,” she continued. “I can help you find the fairies that have it. We don't have to be enemies. We both want the same thing now.”

Zelena snorted. “You want to return that magic to the sweet little girl you stole it from and then subject yourself to hours and hours of torment? I doubt it.”

The Evil Queen did not partake in her sister's gleeful derision. She stepped in front of Xanathusa and looked into her face. Xanathusa could see her orange glowing eyes reflected in Regina's brown ones, but to her dismay she saw no fear from the queen, only icy resolve.

“Let me tell you how this is going to go,” Regina said, power dripping from every word. “You are going to tell us exactly where to find those fairies, or my sister and I will strip you of every ounce of your magic and shove you across that town line where you can live out the rest of your miserable life as the helpless old lady you pretended to be.”

Xanathusa glanced down at the cuff on her arm. She thought of the world on the other side of the Storybrooke town line. Of buses and cheap apartments and bad food and frail bones.

“I can take you to them,” she said. “I can help you get the magic back.”

 

They were barely out of the city yet, just pulling onto the interstate, when Emma's phone rang. Since Emma was driving, Killian picked it up from the change tray and answered it. Emma felt the tension in the car as everyone, even Hope in her carseat, strained to listen to Killian's side of the conversation.

“Snow. Hi, love,” he said. “Yes, we should be there in just a couple of hours.” He paused to listen, glancing at Emma. “They did?” he said. “That's wonderful news.”

“They got her?” Emma asked anxiously.

Killian nodded. “Aye love, she showed up early this morning,” he told her. He turned his attention back to the phone call.

“What?” he said after listening for a moment. The hair on Emma's neck bristled at his tone, and she glanced back and forth between him and the road as he continued to listen to her mother. She heard him sigh. “Okay,” he said. “No, I know. It will be all right. I'll tell her.” Emma saw him glance around at everyone in the car. He paused when he looked at Hope, smiling and winking at her sweetly. “She's wonderful,” he said to Snow, and despite her worries, Emma's heart swelled a little at the happiness in his voice. “Yes, same here. It should be just a couple of hours. Yes, see you then.”

He ended the call and seemed to sit in silent contemplation for a moment.

“Well,” Emma cried. “Where's the witch? Did she have Hope's magic?”

Killian glanced behind him, giving Hope one more small smile before replying. “She showed up in town, and Regina and Zelena managed to capture her. However, she was not in possession of Lady Hope's magic.”

Emma bit back her disappointment, sensing there was more to the story. She nodded for him to continue.

“The witch offered to show them where they could find it and help them acquire it. The dark fairies she'd been working with have it in their realm. Zelena and Regina accompanied the witch there in an attempt to get it back. They're there now.”

“What?” Henry cried. “My mom went to the dark fairies' realm?”

“Lad, it will be all right” Killian replied. “If there's one thing I know about your mother, it's that she never jumps into anything without a plan. She wouldn't have gone if she didn't have a strategy. She'll be fine. It's those bloody fairies you should worry about.”

Emma was angry that Regina and Zelena had taken it upon themselves to go on the recovery mission without her and Killian, but she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. She felt her husband's eyes on her and glanced over to see him looking at her with that eyebrow slightly raised.

“I'm fine,” she said. “You're right. They wouldn't have done if they didn't have a plan.”

“It will be okay, Mom!” Hope chimed in from the back. Emma smiled. Hope never missed a thing when she was overhearing adult conversations.

“You're right,” Emma replied, glancing at Hope's little face reflected in the rearview mirror. “Maybe they'll already be back with your magic when we get there, sweetheart.”

They settled in for a quiet ride after that. Henry was wearing headphones and watching something on his phone. Hope dozed off for a nap an hour into the trip.

Emma and Killian chatted about the last six weeks, filling in any remaining blanks about their time apart. Emma admitted that she felt terrible about having had to tell Max that she was leaving. When she called to tell him that she was leaving town, she had promised him that once things settled down with her family, she'd help him wrap up any outstanding cases that she was working.

Killian told her that he was less concerned about leaving his job. He had enjoyed it, but now that his memories of The Jolly Roger had returned, he was excited to get back to her. “Nothing better have bloody happened to her since we've been away,” he muttered, furrowing his brow.

Emma laughed. “It would be just like Blackbeard to sneak into town and steal it while you were gone,” she teased.

“Now why would you have to go and say something like that?” Killian countered with a chuckle that sounded little bit nervous.

“I'm sure it's fine, babe,” Emma soothed, reaching over to pat his wrist.

As she mused over the past six weeks, a thought suddenly struck her that made her stomach drop. She looked nervously at Killian.

“Hey, can I ask kind of a sensitive question?” she said quietly.

He raised a curious eyebrow. “Of course, darling.”

She glanced back at Henry, making sure he was still oblivious before she continued. “Well, there were a couple weeks there, when we were in Boston but before we, you know, 'met.' You were all alone...”

“I suppose so,” he said, still confused. Then the realization seemed to dawn on him. “Wait,” he said. “Are you asking whether I had any...dalliances while I was cursed?”

He sounded appalled at the notion and Emma couldn't hold back a smile.

“Well, it happened to my parents, when they were cursed,” Emma explained. “And you're, well, _you_.”

“Swan, you should already know that I am perfectly capable of refraining from amorous activities for more than a few weeks.”

“I know, I know!” Emma assured him. “But you didn't know you were married! It could have happened, and I would have...figured out a way to be okay with it.”

He still seemed offended. “Well, I assure you, it did not _happen_. I stayed true to my beloved wife. Even though I didn't know she existed.”

She glanced over to see him smiling at her devilishly, but with that familiar gleam of affection in his eyes.

“How about you, Swan?” he asked her.

“Me?” she cried. “Did you forget that I had the kids with _me_?”

“So?” he replied. “You were also the most beautiful woman in all of Boston. I've no doubt that you had opportunities.”

“Oh please,” Emma replied with a chuckle and a roll of her eyes. “No, don't worry, I was celibate.”

“Well, we'll have to remedy that soon then, love,” he replied, patting her leg with his hook.

She grinned, and squirmed slightly in her seat as she remembered their stolen moments in her bathroom earlier that morning. They sat in a charged but companionable silence for a few more minutes.

Emma's mood darkened as she thought ahead to what they would face when they reached Storybrooke.

“What if we can't get it back for her?” she asked quietly.

“We'll get it back,” Killian replied confidently.

“I know,” Emma said. “But on the chance that we don't...would it really be so terrible?” She lifted her hand from the wheel to halt Killian as he began to protest.  
  
“I mean I don't _want_ Hope's magic in the hands of dark fairies, obviously,” she continued. She glanced quickly at the backseat to make sure the kids weren't suddenly listening. Hope was still asleep, and Henry was still engrossed in his phone. “But if they are off in some other realm far away, and we never find it, we'll still be okay. In some ways, it might even be nice, easier. You know how we're always worried about the day she figures out how to teleport herself and just disappears? And we wouldn't have any repeats of the pancake incident.”

Killian raised an eyebrow at that.

“The _actual_ pancakes!” Emma cried, keeping her eyes on the road as she whacked his arm.

“Ah,” Killian replied with a smile. “You mean that time she made Henry's breakfast fly in the air and stick to the kitchen ceiling when he pretended that he'd used the last of the maple syrup? Aye, that was a bit of a mess.”

“Right. Her powers can actually be dangerous, and she doesn't necessarily _need_ magic. She's still amazing and special no matter what.”

“Of course she is!” Killian agreed. He smiled as he glanced back to gaze at Hope as she dozed peacefully. “But Hope's magic is one-of-a-kind, and it's _hers_.  She was born with it because of your parents' love and because of our love. It's pure and good, just like her. I just can't imagine something so unique and miraculous being in someone else's possession, especially someone evil.”

Emma had to stay focused on the road, but she stole a quick glance over at her husband. The certainly and sincerity she loved so much were all over his handsome face. She smiled a little as she thought of how cynical and broken he had been when she met him, and now here he was talking about true love creating the purest magic.

She reached her hand over again and took his hook, squeezing tightly as if it was flesh and he could feel it. “We'll get her magic back,” she said confidently. “Of course we will.”

He smiled, then lifted her hand with his hook and gently rubbed it against his cheek. He pressed a kiss to her palm before lowering her hand back down to the front seat.

The rest of the trip passed quickly. They hit light traffic around Portsmouth, New Hampshire, but otherwise very few cars were heading north into to Maine on a weekday morning. It was still before nine in the morning when they passed the familiar roadside diner a few miles outside of Storybrooke. Hope was awake and fidgeting in her carseat in anticipation of being home and seeing the rest of their family.

Killian had called Snow back with their estimated arrival time, and they saw David's familiar pickup truck pulled over by the side of the road as soon as they drove across town line. Emma's heart swelled and she couldn't suppress a grin as her parents stepped out of the front seat. David helped five-year-old Neal out of the car, holding his hand tightly even though there were no other cars in sight.

Emma parked just in front of the truck, and they all clambered out of the Bug, with Killian carrying Hope. Emma jogged up to her mother and embraced her tightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw David grab Hope from Killian. Her father squeezed his granddaughter tight and spun her around, then he pulled Henry into the hug and kissed the side of the boy's head.

“My turn!” Snow cried, pulling away from Emma, who could see that her mother's eyes shone with tears. Snow pulled Henry into a tight hug, and then released him so that she could grab Hope from David. She looked into her granddaughter's little face before leaning in to touch her forehead with her own. “Oh sweetheart,” she said wetly. “We missed you so much!”

“I missed you too!” Hope said. “Hi Neal!”

“Hi Hope,” the boy replied a little shyly.

Snow put Hope down on the ground, and the little girl instantly threw her arms around her young uncle.

David and Killian shared a quick hug. Emma noticed with a grin that Killian cleared his throat, while David dabbed at his eyes after they parted. What softies they were.

“So, you're David Nolan,” Emma teased her father when it was finally their turn. “I thought you'd be taller.”

“Come here!” David laughed, and she could see that his eyes were genuinely full of tears now. He pulled her into a big bear hug, and she squeezed him just as tight.

There was an honest to goodness lump in Emma's throat now too. “Thank you,” she whispered against David's neck. “For finding me, for getting through to me.”

“I will always find you, remember?” David said, pulling back to face her with a smile.

Emma rolled her eyes and dabbed at her own tears.

David turned serious. “I just wish we could have done more,” he said sadly. “We were just sitting here waiting for so long. We were so worried.”

“It's all right, Dad. We're all okay now,” Emma replied sincerely. She stepped away and bent down to pick up her little brother, pulling him into a long hug.

Killian reached down to pick up Hope again, and he turned to face David. “Emma's right, mate,” he said. “We all found each other. We made it home. We broke the curse thanks to all of you, and to Henry,” he added, nodding affectionately at his stepson.

“And thanks to you,” Emma reminded him, looking up at Killian to meet his eyes. One of her most important jobs in their marriage was to remind him not to sell himself short; that he was indeed a hero. She never wanted him to forget it.

His eyes were wet as he replied, “Well, falling into true love with my family again certainly wasn't difficult.”

Emma felt herself beaming at him. Then she rolled her eyes at her mother's tearful exclamation of, “Awwww!”

“Okay,” Emma said, putting her brother back down and patting his shoulder. “So what's the plan? I take it Regina and Zelena aren't back yet?”

David shook his head. “No,” he replied. “But we don't really expect them for a couple of hours. They opened a portal to the fairies' realm. They did it outside of Regina's vault, so we think that they'll return there.”

“What was their plan?” Killian asked. “How are they going to acquire the magic once they get to the fairies' world?”

“That witch, Xanathusa, was really bent on double-crossing those fairies. She's going to get them into their castle,” Snow answered.

Emma and Killian raised their eyebrows simultaneously.

“I know, I know,” Snow added. “She's awful, but Regina and Zelena motivated her to help.

“I'll bet they did,” Emma replied, rolling her eyes.

“Love, we'll do whatever it takes to get Hope's magic back, right?” Killian said, turning to her.

“I know, you're right. I just don't like being on the sidelines.”

“Good, because you don't have to be,” Snow said. “Tink and Blue are guarding the vault now, ready to provide backup if the others need it when they come back. Emma, I thought that you and I could go with them and wait while David and Killian take the kids to Granny's.”

Henry protested that he wasn't a kid and that he wanted to be there when Regina came back, and Emma reluctantly acquiesced.

Emma could tell that Killian wasn't keen on being out of the action either, but she also knew that he didn't want to be apart from Hope, and Hope needed to stay in a safe place.

Emma walked over to her husband, who was still holding their daughter, and pulled them both into a long hug.

“Be safe, love,” Killian said into her hair.

“I will. We'll call you as soon as we have it and it's safe to meet up, okay?”

Killian nodded.

Emma cupped Hope's little face in her hand. “I'll see you soon, baby. Bring me a grilled cheese from Granny's.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Hope agreed. Emma's heart broke a little bit at her daughter's bravery.

Henry and Snow said their goodbyes, and the three of them climbed into Emma's Bug.

Killian, David, Hope, and Neal stayed on the side of the road and watched them drive away. Hope blew kisses and waved, and Emma waved back, keeping her eyes on her daughter for as long as she could before turning back to the road.

On the drive, Snow had a million questions about their time in Boston, and Emma answered them patiently.

She couldn't help but smile as she recounted the day they met Killian. Henry, of course, grumbled in the backseat about how badly he'd hurt his toe when he dropped the heavy Neverland poster. Emma thought of Killian appearing at the top of the steps, sleepy and rumpled. Her defenses had been up, and she'd been more than ready to pick a fight, but something about him had stopped her.  Then, when he'd knelt down to introduce himself to Hope like the gentleman that he was, she'd been a goner.

Emma rolled her eyes as Snow sighed during Emma's description of their outings with Killian, how great he was with the kids, and how they felt like they had known each other for a long time.

“And then when she was in the hospital, it all just came together,” Emma explained. “Killian's memories were starting to break through. Henry knew something was off with that witch downstairs. And Dad's messages were finally getting through to me. We all just believed.”

At this point, tears were streaming down her mother's face, and Emma reached over and affectionately rubbed her arm. “Mom,” she said. “It's okay. We have to focus now, though. We're almost to the vault.”

Snow sniffed. “I'm okay,” she said. “It's just that, well, like your father says, we always find each other. And we really do.”

Emma smiled softly as she pulled into the cemetery lot nearest Regina's vault. The three of them trudged through the grass to find Tinkerbell and Blue waiting vigilantly near the entrance. At the sight of Emma and Henry, Tink let out an excited yelp and ran over to meet them. She wrapped Emma up in a hug.

Emma returned her fairy friend's embrace. She allowed herself a moment to appreciate this, coming home to people. Not just family but friends.

Tink let her go to hug Henry, and Emma nodded a greeting to Blue, who was still stealing nervous glances at the air around the vault.

“What do we think we're going to be dealing with?” Emma asked, after all the hellos and pleasantries had been exchanged.

“Dark fairies,” Blue replied. “The same ones that were here before trying to take Hope's magic. The question is whether having that witch with them will tip the scales in Zelena and Regina's favor so that they can steal the magic back.”

“Well, hopefully they'll have the element of surprise on their side,” Emma noted. “But what if the dark fairies are already using Hope's power?” she asked, voicing the worry that had been nagging her during the whole trip. “Couldn't they be, I don't know, unstoppable?”

“It's difficult to say,” Blue admitted. “Hope's magic, well, it is really special. It may just be the lightest magic that's been born in ages. There is no telling how that kind of light magic will react if something tries to use it for darkness.”

“So that's good, right?” Snow asked hopefully.

“Maybe,” Blue said stoically. “I'm going to take a walk around the vault, see if I sense any energy that indicates the portal might be about to open.”

When the mother superior walked away, Tink rolled her eyes. “Thank Zeus I don't have to be alone with her any longer. The vague sense of condescension and foreboding she always radiates was getting old,” she said.

Emma chuckled.

“So,” Tink continued. “You guys broke the memory curse and woke up Hope! That's incredible. We were all so worried!”

“Thanks,” Emma replied affectionately. “I'm so grateful that it all came together.” She patted Henry on the back. “Henry was amazing as usual,” she said. “And Killian, he really believed. It was his kiss that broke the curse and woke up Hope.” Emma heard the emotion in her own voice as she explained to one of Killian's oldest friends how he had believed in true love.

Tinkerbell's eyes had filled with tears as she listened. “I can't even believe that he's the same man that he was on Neverland, Emma,” she said. “What meeting you did for him...I never, ever would have believed that he was capable of such goodness.”

Emma felt tears in her own eyes now, and she knew her mother was always on the edge of true waterworks, so she simply nodded and turned the focus back to the matter at hand.

Snow had brought her bow, so Emma instructed her and Henry to hide back by the treeline, ready for a surprise attack if Regina and Zelena had any unwanted company with them when the portal opened again.

Blue returned from her reconnaissance and told them she felt that the portal could open at any moment. Emma hugged her mother and son before they jogged over to their hiding spot.

Emma felt the air around her crackle with energy, and she stepped back, shielding her face from wind and blowing debris as the familiar orange circle opened in front of her, and several figures stepped out.

Emma raised her hands reflexively, ready for a fight. In her peripheral vision, she saw Blue and Tink on either side of her do the same. But as her eyes focused, she saw Regina step forward and heard the familiar condescending voice.

“Relax, everyone. It's us,” Regina said as she approached Emma and the fairies.

The portal behind them disappeared as did the blowing wind, and Emma took in the sight in front of her. Standing behind Regina was “Mrs. X,” although now she was in her true, witch-y form with her wrinkled grayish skin and glowing orange eyes. Emma noticed that she was wearing a magic-restricting cuff.

Next to that witch stood Zelena, her red hair windblown and her eyes agleam with the thrill of battle. Her hands were occupied. She was holding them up, like she was a game show hostess gesturing to a prize, and green energy was shooting out of them. The energy appeared to be coalescing around an object, which to Emma looked like a glass box with several small creatures inside.

Confused and impatient, Emma addressed Regina. “Did you get it, Hope's magic?” she asked.

Regina sighed and glanced back at her sister and the object she was levitating. “We did, sort of. But it's a little...delicate. Zelena, show her.”

Emma held her breath as Zelena walked towards her, moving the glass box through the air with her. Snow and Henry had emerged from their spot near the trees and stood behind Emma, watching with anticipation. They all stood with rapt attention as Zelena lowered the glass box to the grassy ground. Her levitation spell was no longer necessary, so she lowered her hands, and the green smoke dissipated.

Emma bent down and peered inside the box. It was a cage, she realized, and its prisoners were three dark fairies that Regina and Zelena had captured. One appeared to be a male, and he stood tall by the front of the glass, sneering at Emma. His wings buzzed at his back, even though his feet stayed on the floor of the cage.

Behind him was a slightly smaller figure. She had the same pinched face and dark eyes as the male, but her wings were still. She was crouched over a much smaller dark fairy who was sitting against the back of the cage. It looked like it might be tired or sick. Its small wings didn't move, and it was resting its head against its tiny knees. It was a child, Emma realized as she looked closer. She had never seen a child fairy before. She thought they just sprung fully grown out of a flower or hatched out of an egg or something.

“What is this?” Emma breathed, standing up to look at Regina and Zelena.

It was Xanathusa who answered. “The receptacle,” she replied. “Their savior.”

 

Normally, Killian would have been quite happy to be enjoying brunch at Granny's with his best mate-slash-father-in-law and their children. Indeed, Hope seemed delighted to be tucking in to a small stack of pancakes and chatting across the table to young Uncle Neal.

But today, he was on edge and half sick to his stomach as he nursed his coffee and water. He was so worried that something would go wrong and that Hope's magic would be lost or destroyed. Even worse, he was terrified for Emma. Having her back by his side for the past several hours had been like restoring a part of himself that was missing. The idea that she was off in harm's way was debilitating. He was answering David's attempts at conversation halfheartedly in favor of starting at his phone.

After about twenty minutes of that, he felt Hope lean her head against his side. “Hi Daddy,” she said.

“Hi, love,” he replied. “How were the pancakes?”

“Thumbs up!” she said enthusiastically.

“That's wonderful,” he replied. He pulled her into his lap and inspected her face. She was sticky with syrup, so he dipped his napkin in his water and dabbed at the mess. When he was done, she snuggled back against him in the booth. Killian didn't miss the look of contented affection on David's face as he watched them.

“She's going to call us really soon, Daddy,” Hope said, pulling away to look at him.

“I know, Bean,” he replied.

Sure enough, his phone rang a few minutes later. Emma didn't offer much in the way of explanation. She just said that it was safe and that they should hurry over to Regina's vault.

When David, Killian, Neal, and Hope arrived at the grassy lawn just outside the crypt, they found everyone huddled around what appeared to be a glass box.

Killian immediately noticed the presence of Mrs. X, or “Xanathusa” the witch, and he stepped in front of Hope, hiding her behind his legs as they approached. He raised his hook (his real one, although he knew it was less threatening with the rubber stopper) reflexively and gave the old woman his deadliest stare.

Emma walked over to them and took his arm. “Hey, it's okay,” she said. “That witch is contained.” Emma picked up Hope from behind Killian and nuzzled the little girl's hair. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said.

“Hi, Mom.”

Emma led them over to the others and nodded at Regina, who offered an explanation.

“After we opened the portal to the dark fairies' realm, Xanathusa helped us get to Othrall's castle.” She gestured at the male fairy at the front of the box. “We'd prepared counter spells against their protections so that we could sneak in to look for this 'receptacle' she kept talking about,” Regina explained.

“We thought we would be searching for some fancy urn or a jar that contained Hope's magic,” Zelena added.

“Right,” Regina continued with a nod. “But once we snuck in, Xanathusa led us to Othrall's family's chambers, and right to the room of this child.” Regina pointed to the smallest fairy.

Killian stood close to Emma, who was still holding Hope, and kept his arm wrapped tightly around both of them. He shook his head as he listened to Regina, struggling to follow along and understand her meaning.

Zelena sighed in annoyance as she realized that not everyone had gotten it yet. “The child _is_ the receptacle,” she said. “They were channelling Hope's magic into the bloody royal baby all along. But this witch never saw fit to tell us until we were inside the castle.” Zelena sneered as she indicated Xanathusa, who simply shrugged as if the fact that Hope's magic was now contained in another _living being_ was neither here nor there.

“So the child has Hope's magic?” David clarified, leaning down to look inside the glass box. “But it doesn't look well at all. Did you two do something to it?”

“No. We haven't done a thing,” Regina replied, a little defensively. “The child was like this when we found it. Granted, the kid being sick made it easier for us to, well, kidnap it. Once we had the child, the fairy king here attacked us and ordered us to release their 'savior.'”

“We overpowered him and imprisoned the whole family, of course, ” Zelena explained. “We opened another portal and now here we are.”

Killian winced. Even though the fairies had started this fight by coming after his family, it was painful to see the small beings, especially the child, helpless and trapped in Zelena's cage. He traded glances with Emma and knew immediately that she had the same thought.

Emma handed Hope to him and took a step towards the glass box. “Can they hear us?” she asked Zelena.

Zelena waved a perfectly manicured hand indifferently at the box. “Now they can.”

With the soundproofing magic removed, Killian and the others could now hear that Othrall was shouting at them, yelling curses and threats about the destruction he would rain down on them for this abomination.

“Hey!” Emma shouted. “Fine, you've sworn your revenge, whatever. Can you please just tell us why you wanted to steal my daughter's magic for your kid?” She nodded at the child in the back of the box. “It doesn't look like it's doing him any good.”

Othrall glared at Emma, looking her up and down as if taking the measure of the _real_ Savior and planning his attack. The hair on the back of Killian's neck stood up. He was ready to jump to her defense, as always.

Finally, Othrall seemed to recognize his own powerlessness. The buzzing in his wings slowed and his shoulders slumped. “He's not _my_ child,” he replied sadly. “Not really. We dark fairies don't have children. We're born already mature from the blackest, thorniest, most poisonous of blooms.”

The dark fairy paused. He sighed and looked back at the child behind him. Killian couldn't believe it, but he thought he saw affection in the thing's eyes.

Othrall continued, “But one day, there was a strange storm, and the next morning, one of the blooms turned from black to a deep blue. When it opened, this child emerged. We called him Selvane, and we believed that he was sent to us as a savior of our kind.”

Off to his left, Killian heard Blue gasp. Clearly, the existence of a fairy child was quite a shock to her as well.

The child at the back of the cage looked up and offered them a wan smile. Emma noticed that his eyes weren't as black as the other two dark fairies; they were more of a deep grayish blue.

“Why would you need a savior?” Emma asked.

Othrall frowned, and his pointed visage looked even more evil than usual. “Our power has been waning for years now. The Dark Curse was broken. The Evil Queen and the Dark One departed for a non-magical realm. Most of the kingdoms have been experiencing a period of peace under benevolent rulers. Nobody wants to conjure dark magic anymore. There's just less evil energy present in the realms, and as a result, our power is waning. We're no longer immortal, and our numbers are thinning. We thought that the child represented our salvation, a chance to regenerate our power,” he finished sadly.

“But why try to steal light magic?” Killian questioned. “Your power comes from darkness.”

“It wasn't about whether it was light or dark. It was the magnitude of the power, the rarity and the strength of two generations of true love's magic. We believed that, if channelled into our savior, it would turn as black as our hearts and we could use it as it we pleased.”

“But it obviously didn't work,” Regina added snidely. “If anything, your savior seems to be rejecting it.”

Othrall looked up at her. His face showed anger, but Killian thought he saw shame in those dark eyes as well. “Selvane has always been, well, sickly,” Othrall explained. “We were terrified that he would die from his illnesses before he had a chance to fulfill his destiny. We thought that channelling the power from the product of true love would restore him and awaken his own power. But it didn't work. If anything, the light magic made him weaker.” He looked sadly over at his son, who hung his head.

“Well, now it's time to put Hope's magic back where it belongs,” Regina said quietly but firmly.

“How?” Emma asked.

Zelena waved her hand in the air, and a familiar wand appeared in her grasp.

“The apprentice's wand,” Killian said.

“Very good, Captain,” Zelena replied. “Thankfully, it is much easier to return magic to where it belongs than it is to steal it.”

Blue stepped forward to explain further. “Just as magic recognizes like magic, it also recognizes its source, even if that source has been emptied,” she said, with a nod to Hope. “Zelena can give Hope's magic a little push with the wand and a few select words. The magic will free itself then seek out its true home.”

“And young Miss Hope's magic will be restored,” Zelena added. She looked over in Killian's direction and smiled affectionately at Hope, giving her a quick wink. As prickly as the former Wicked Witch could be when facing an enemy, her love for her daughter Robin had softened her, and she seemed to quite like Hope.

Othrall looked from Zelena to Killian and Hope. He seemed to be searching for any last means of an escape. Finally, his shoulders sagged. “Selvane is not to be harmed,” he said to Zelena. “Or I will not rest until I destroy all of you.”

“Of course he won't be harmed,” Emma assured him. “Right?” she added to Zelena.

“Oh, he'll be fine. It's quick and painless. Now, shall we?”

Emma nodded. Zelena stepped closer to the box and lightly touched the top of it with her hand. The glass seemed to liquify, and she reached down and lifted up Selvane through the top. The glass immediately solidified again, keeping the other two fairies trapped. The female fairy, who Killian presumed was Othrall's wife or partner, flew up to the top of the glass, seemingly bereft that she'd had to let go of the child.

Emma noticed, of course, and leaned down to address the fairy. “It will be okay,” she said. “I promise. We'll give him right back and send you all on your way.”

The female fairy glared at Emma coldly but nodded.

Zelena brought the child over to where Killian stood holding Hope. Emma followed and stood close to them. Killian clutched his daughter tightly, but she turned in his arms so that she could scrutinize the fairy child that Zelena held in her hand.

“Hi,” she said to it when Zelena had brought it within a couple feet of her.

Selvane nodded slowly. His strange, pointed features made it difficult for Killian to read his expression, but based on the slump of its shoulders, he thought that the boy seemed to be sad or ashamed.

“Are you ready, Hope?” Zelena asked. “It might feel a bit strange when I cast the spell, but afterwards, you'll be good as new.”

Hope nodded. “I'm ready!” she said bravely.

But before Zelena could use the wand to draw the magic from the fairy, Selvane spoke. His voice was high-pitched and surprisingly musical for that of a being known for its menace. “So you can use it, this magic?” He was addressing Hope.

Killian was proud of how easily his daughter met the strange fairy's gaze and answered him with her usual forthrightness. “Yep! I can,” she said. Then, with a quick glance at her parents, she added, “Just a little bit so far, though.”

They all watched as the fairy considered her. Finally, he asked, “What can you do?”

Hope took a deep breath and looked up, her expression adorably thoughtful as she prepared to recount her magical exploits. “Well, I made a baby chick come alive at Grandma and Grandpa's” she answered finally.  "I named her Tinkerbell!"  

Killian looked up to meet David's eyes and found that his father-in-law was smiling at the memory.  Tink was also beaming, of course.  

“Annnnnd....one time when Henry had a paper cut, I fixed it with my hands,” Hope continued.

“That's right, she did! It was awesome!” Henry added.

Hope smiled at her brother, but then she furrowed her brow. “And _another_ time, I made his pancakes fly up and stick to the ceiling because I was so mad.”

Everyone chuckled at that, except for the fairies, who just looked confused.

“Oh, and one time, Neal was climbing on Grandma's porch railing like he's not supposed to and he was about to fall but I pushed him back up with air so he got his balance.”

Snow and David looked down at their son, who was leaning against Snow's legs. He shrugged guiltily.

The young fairy was still watching Hope intently. Finally, he spoke quietly. “That's good. It works for you. It belongs to you. I'm glad that you're getting it back. Since I've had it, Father has only been angry because I can't use it.”

Killian glanced at Othrall, who was watching and listening intently from the box. His cruel face now looked stricken.

Hope was looking at Selvane sadly. “I'm sorry,” she said sweetly.

The boy shrugged.

Finally, satisfied that the conversation was finished, Zelena said, “Are we ready? This won't hurt a bit.”

She waved the apprentice's wand around Selvane. Slowly, swirls of glowing white light began to emerge from his tiny midsection. The swirls grew and grew until the magic was a large cloud that hovered in the air between Selvane and Hope. Once it was all free, the cloud began to focus in one direction, becoming a stream of magic. It headed right toward's Hope chest, entering her body gently and causing her to appear to glow for a moment. Killian held her tightly, but she didn't move or fuss.

When the transfer was complete, she took a deep breath and smiled.

“Ah, that's better,” she said, with comic exaggeration.

Everyone chuckled. Killian hugged Hope to him, and Emma threw her arms around both of them and snuggled her daughter's little neck.

“Great job, baby,” Emma whispered. “You were so brave!”

Hope suddenly pulled free of the hug and tried to wriggle out of Killian's arms. He acquiesced, lowering her to the ground. She ran over to Zelena, who was about to return Selvane to the fairies' prison.

“Zelena wait,” Hope cried. “Can I see him?”

Zelena cocked an eyebrow at Emma, who nodded after only a moment's hesitation. She reached over and gripped Killian's hand tightly. He had a feeling they both knew what was coming.

“Selvane?” Hope said to the young fairy as Zelena knelt down and held him out before her. Hope reached out her hand with one finger pointed and gently touched the young fairy's tiny chest. He gave her a questioning look that turned to one of awe as a small amount of light magic flowed through her finger into his body.

Suddenly, Selvane's sallow gray complexion began to brighten, looking more like silver. His blue-gray eyes became brighter and more blue than gray. His shoulders straightened, and his little wings began to buzz with renewed energy.

Hope removed her hand. “Is that better?” she asked.

The young fairy smiled widely. “Much better!” he replied.

Othrall and his partner were standing in the front of the cage watching with awe. When Zelena returned Selvane to them, they hugged him tightly.

Killian felt pride swell in his chest as he saw the results of his daughter's generosity and brave heart. He watched adoringly as Emma knelt beside Hope and pulled her into a hug.

“We are so very proud of you, Hope,” Emma told her, pulling back to look her in the eyes. Killian saw that Emma's eyes were filled with tears.

He knelt down next to Emma and took his turn hugging Hope, then he scooped her up in his arms and held her close as they turned back to the fairies.

The woman was still holding on to Selvane, hugging him and talking to him softly. Othrall stood and addressed them. “We are grateful to the child,” he said. “She has restored Selvane's health. And now we ask for more mercy. Let us return to our realm to live out our days. We will not come back here.”

“Not so fast,” Regina told him. “We're going to need some assurances that you're not just going to buzz over to some other realm to try to steal someone else's magic.”

“They won't,” Emma said.

Regina raised an eyebrow. “You're willing to trust them?”

“I am,” Emma replied. “I hope, and I believe that they know they got a precious gift today, and that they won't take it for granted.”

As she spoke, she locked eyes with the female fairy, who nodded as she clutched the child that she clearly loved.

“What about her?” Killian asked, nodding at Xanathusa, who had been standing quietly off to the side.

Emma stepped away from Killian and Hope to address Xanathusa. She looked her up and down. Finally, she said, “You took our memories. You interfered with our lives. Killian and Hope could have died. And for what? A little bit of power? So you could get petty revenge on your enemies?”

“I've lived for a long time, girl,” Xanathusa sneered. “My list of enemies is long.”

“Well, it just got a lot longer.”

Emma turned to address Regina. “She's banished, and she keeps the cuff.”

“What?” Xanathusa cried. Then, she regained her composure. “I'll find a way free myself of it.”

Emma shrugged. “Maybe. Eventually you might, but it won't be easy. And this town is still alarmed. If you show up again, in a dream or real life, we won't be so forgiving.”

“All right, then,” Zelena said. “Another portal it is.” She looked down at Othrall. “Now, can I trust you enough to remove you from the cage for your journey?”

Othrall nodded solemnly. He hovered close to his family as Zelena waved her hand, making the glass box disappear.

Regina tossed a magic bean into the air, and the four figures stepped and flew towards the portal. Selvane turned one last time and gave Hope a small wave, which she returned along with a sweet smile.

Then they were gone, and the portal disappeared.

The group seemed to breathe a collective sigh a relief. Then, Killian and Hope were bombarded with loved ones offering congratulations and seeking hugs. David reached them first, and Killian handed Hope over so that her grandfather could swing her around in a circle.

Tink and Zelena nearly shoved each other while jockeying for the next hug, so Hope simply threw her arms around both women's necks at once.

Henry put his arm around Regina and congratulated her on a job well done.

Killian and Emma stood with their arms around each other. He gazed down at Emma as she beamed at the celebration happening around their little girl. Finally sensing his stare, she looked up and met his eyes, smiling that smile she reserved only for him.

“Ready to go home, love?” he asked her.

“More than ready,” she replied. “Did you get my grilled cheese?”

“Aye, with extra onion rings. It's in the truck.”

“I love you,” she told him.

“I love you,” he replied. “In every land, in every reality.”

Her eyes sparkled with happy tears. He leaned down and kissed her softly. Then, still holding each other tight, they walked over to celebrate with their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you so very much for all the kudos and comments on this work. It was a pleasure getting to spend a little more time with these characters and with all of you!


	12. Epilogue-Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of an Epilogue to "Small Miracles."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to show a bit of the Swan-Jones family's life back in Storybrooke after the curse was broken and things went back to normal. I also had the idea of comparing Emma's current, wonderful family life with her lonely childhood and exploring what that contrast means to her. That turned into a story idea, so this will be a two or three part epilogue that covers a new adventure for them. I Hope you enjoy!

Emma Swan-Jones woke up on the morning of November 3 completely unconscious of the fact that it was, in fact, November 3.

For as many years as she could remember, this was a day she anticipated with dread, looking at the calendar in the days that preceded it with a mix of anxiety and sadness. She always knew with certainty that it would be a day of brooding and contemplation, as years of memories of feeling abandoned and unwanted would rise to the surface.

Her daughter's birth nearly four years ago had intensified the feelings of this day; shifting them away from Emma's own self pity to that of tearful anger and disbelief that someone could do such a thing to any innocent child. How could you look at a child that had been living in your house, loving you, depending on you for nearly her whole life and decide that suddenly you just didn't want her?

She didn't really remember the incident, having just turned three when it happened, and she had never been shown a picture of her almost-adoptive parents. She had vague impressions, though, a fuzzy memory of a birthday cake in a kitchen with blue gingham curtains.

Before her daughter was born, Emma always had conjured a picture in her mind of the generic, faceless family giving her tiny blonde self back to a generic, faceless social worker. Since Hope was born, however, she no longer saw herself in the sad tableaux. Rather, she pictured her adored daughter, confused and crying, reaching back for her “mother” who had coldly turned away. Each time she imagined this scene, tears of disgusted rage would inevitably spring to Emma's eyes, and she would have to take deep breaths to avoid having a panic attack.

Layered underneath all of this, of course, was Emma's own guilt about giving up Henry on the day he was born. She knew that the circumstances were quite different, but in her darkest moments, she couldn't help but wonder if she was being a hypocrite in loathing her almost-family the way she did.

Indeed, she could barely bring herself to say that family's name out loud. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd done so in the course of her life. She'd given herself the last name “Swan” to avoid having to think of that real, almost-last name and to honor the story of "The Ugly Duckling."

Killian knew the significance of November 3 and why it had such an impact on her mood. In the years since she'd been with him, she'd gradually opened up to him about her feelings on the dark anniversary. He'd been there to help calm her nerves and talk her down from her panic.

She had even told Killian the family's real name, last year on this date. The anniversary had hit her particularly hard last year, as Hope was approaching the age that Emma was when she was sent back into the system. Killian had sat up with her by the fire after Hope was asleep, and Emma had sipped rum and talked about it. She had cried, feeling stupid for being so emotional about something that happened 30 years ago.

He had comforted her and made her feel better, of course. As much as the memories (real and imagined) tortured her, with Killian she had a steadfast, devilishly handsome reminder that she  _and_ Hope were indeed wanted.

In fact, she believed that they were wanted and loved more than anything in the world.

But still, it was always a dark day for her.

This November 3, however, Emma awoke to blissful peace, unaware that there was any significance to the date on the calendar other than it was to be a typically busy Thursday in the Swan-Jones household.

She woke up to the sound of their bedroom door creaking open all the way, followed by tiny footsteps across the hardwood and rug to their bed. Emma kept her eyes closed and fought a smile as tiny hands gripped the duvet around her for purchase. She felt the warm little body climb over her as Killian lifted up his hand, which had been settled on Emma's waist, to allow Hope to wriggle in between them.

Emma gave up the act of feigning sleep and turned around to look at her daughter, who had burrowed in between her and Killian and was now facing Emma with a mischievous grin.

“Hi, Mom,” she said.

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Can we get up?”

Emma sighed. It felt early. “Didn't you just get comfortable?” she replied.

Killian had wrapped his right arm around both of them again, and she felt him chuckle in response.

“I want to get up, though! The sun is up!” Hope reasoned.

“I'll get up with you, little lass,” Killian conceded. “We can start making breakfast for Mommy. Deal?”

“Deal!” Hope replied, sitting straight up between them and beginning to bounce up and down excitedly.

Emma rolled on her back, guiltily excited about the opportunity to snooze for five more minutes.

Killian leaned over Hope and kissed the side of Emma's forehead before climbing out of bed and picking up their little girl.

Emma sighed and rested for a few more minutes, wincing and then chuckling as she heard the clang of pots and pans from the kitchen downstairs. Once her brain had really woken up, it started ticking through her to do list for the day, and she decided it was time to get going and head to the shower.

She still did not remember that it was November 3.

 

Killian glanced at the clock in the kitchen as Hope “helped” him get the eggs out of the refrigerator. It was later than he'd realized, so he'd have to keep breakfast simple. Eggs and Canadian bacon sounded good. He kept his hand on the carton of eggs as his three-and-a-half year-old daughter carefully carried it over to the table where he'd set the bowl and whisk.

Hope always had grand plans of cracking the eggs on the edge of the bowl _by herself_ , but once it came down to it, she was never willing to tap them quite hard enough to actually crack them. She settled for getting them started and then watching in wonder as Killian expertly cracked and opened each egg with his one hand. It was a skill he'd mastered long ago, but he appreciated it anew since it so impressed his little daughter.

Once he'd cracked the eggs, Hope took over with the whisk, kneeling on a kitchen chair and scrunching up her face adorably as she concentrated on her task.

He opened the package of bacon and began cooking it in a frying pan. He could hear the shower running, so he knew that Emma was up. Henry was there this morning, but it was still early for him. Sometimes, they had to roust him just minutes before it was time to leave for school, and Killian would cluck in mock disapproval as the boy scarfed down his breakfast while pulling on his jacket.

He wondered if Emma would mention what day it was. In the brief moments they'd spent awake together in their bed with Hope, he'd noticed her relaxed state and her easy smile. He suspected that she hadn't yet remembered that it was typically such a dark day for her.

Truthfully, he hoped that she  _had_ remembered and that her easy manner so far this morning was a sign that she was fully moving past it. Last year was bad. She had been reliving the feeling of being unwanted, being given back, but picturing their daughter in her stead. It had broken her heart, and all he could do was listen and hold her as she talked it out.

He ached for her whenever he thought about her past and the injustices she'd endured, but on that day last year, he felt the full depth of her hurt.

Nobody, especially not someone whose heart was as loving and generous as his Emma's was, deserved to have their life defined by people that were as unspeakably cruel as the people who had given her back.

He heard her footsteps on the stairs and immediately turned to look for her. Her freshly washed hair bounced around her arms and shoulders in soft waves, so similar to those of their daughter. She was dressed for work in dark skinny jeans and a cream cable knit sweater, and she wore thick wooly socks. He noticed the relaxed set of her shoulders and her easy smile as she arrived in the kitchen and saw Hope carefully beating the eggs. Everything about her expression and manner told him that she hadn't remembered the date.

Killian had been fascinated by Emma Swan from the moment he'd laid eyes on her, after she'd pulled him out from underneath a pile of corpses and immediately recognized that his scared blacksmith routine was a blatant lie.

She was a gorgeous, miraculous mess of contradictions.

He had known her to be the toughest, most world-weary cynic, but her real heart contained boundless love and true optimism. He had spent years studying this woman, and he believed that he would never tire of pondering her complexities and honing his own responses to her in his life's mission to be her perfect partner.

He greeted her and grinned at her as she went to help Hope with the eggs, but the wheels in his mind were turning about how best to approach the subject of today's anniversary, or whether to mention it at all. At the present moment, she looked blissfully happy, so he decided to leave it be.

Emma brought the bowl of egg mixture over to the stovetop, standing next to him and bumping his hip affectionately as she started the burner under the skillet.

“Good morning,” she said to him, continuing to lean into his space as they stood side by side at their burners.

“Hello, love,” he replied. He studied her relaxed and happy expression as she stirred the eggs and chatted with Hope. He felt his own heart lighten. Perhaps this would just be another day, another _really good_ day.

 

Emma had grown up surrounded by chaos. Mostly, it was the chaos of group homes and shared rooms and kids that were sad and lonely but showed it through anger and bullying. Occasionally, during the worst times, it was the bedlam of the street. It was cars, sirens, cops, and strangers.

She'd grown to hate it. She hated the messes, the unpredictability, the damn noise. She had always wanted to just shut it all out. When she was nine, she was given a used walkman and a set of headphones, which she managed to hold onto for a few years. But it wasn't long before that was lost (stolen) at a particularly awful group home.

When she was seventeen, she was arrested for grand larceny and ended up in a whole different crowded, noisy, horrible place. There, even at night, there was no quiet or peace. The taunts of other inmates, the buzzing of gates, and the threats of guards never ceased. Even when it was technically quiet around her, the noise in her brain, the 'why?'s and the 'why me?'s and the shock and sickness of having a child inside her when she was still a child herself were never silent.

She tried not to think about that time.

After she got out of prison in Arizona, she did her stint in a halfway house. After _that_ , when she managed to get a job and her own horrible dingy apartment, she _loved_ the quiet. She didn't even mind, for a while, that she couldn't afford a TV. She would just sit with her terrible but perfect Cup O'Noodles that was just _hers_ and enjoy the peace and the knowledge that nobody was going to bother her, nobody was going to come knocking on her door.

She relished the peace and quiet for years, until one day, in a much nicer apartment and on her twenty-eighth birthday, she realized that it was _too_ quiet. She was alone. She was _lonely_.

And then, of course, someone did knock on her door.

After that, she found herself surrounded by a very confusing sort of chaos, until the pieces finally fell into place and she realized that she belonged to people, Snow White and Prince Charming to be precise. She lived with them and her son and her newborn brother (and for a little while, a human ice maker) and she figured out how to adjust to the chaos of being part of a family.

That was hard for her, harder than it should have been, she often thought in bouts of self-doubt. During those first months in Storybrooke, and after the year in New York, she suspected that there was something irreparably broken about her that would always cause her to want to flee from family entanglements.

She wondered if she just wasn't built for family relationships or for dealing with the unexpected events and tragedies. She figured that she would always try to raise her guard and escape to the peace and safety of solitude.

Happily though, thanks in no small part to the dashing pirate she would marry, she figured out her place, and she accepted her family.

But accepting her role as a mother, and then learning to be a daughter and a sister had been only the first steps. Believing that she could be loved, be _in_ love, and be someone's partner for the rest of her life was something else. Understanding that she was someone who could build her  _own_ family had been a whole other journey. But, once she had found true love and made the decision to let it in, the act of creating a family, a home, that was _theirs_ had been shockingly easy.

Now, she was surrounded by chaos once again, but it was suffused with the truest of love and joy. She relished every noisy, messy, wonderful second of it.

Emma and her family had been back in Storybrooke for about three weeks, having defeated the witch and the fairies that had come for Hope's magic. They had returned to Boston last week for a few days, picking up belongings from apartments and workplaces and breaking ties with landlords and employers. They squeezed in time for a few touristy things too, like the New England Aquarium and a meal at Legal Seafoods. Emma loved every minute of it, having gained a new appreciation for spending time with her husband when they actually  _knew_ for certain who they were to each other.

Given her past, Emma had always been grateful, sometimes to the point of awe, of the life that she had now. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine living in a town where she was actually _admired_ and which was filled with family and friends who loved her.

All of that alone would have been enough to blow teen convict-Emma's mind. _That_ Emma would never even have begun to entertain the possibility that she would live in a beautiful victorian house by the sea with a husband and two children that she loved utterly and completely, and who loved her in return.

But as much as she'd always appreciated her messy, noisy family life, she had never appreciated it _more_ than she did now, after she'd come close to losing everything just weeks ago.

This morning in the Swan-Jones house, she was particularly enjoying the noise and chaos. (Maybe that was why she wasn't focused on the date.)

After Killian rushed through his own breakfast (“I know it's bad form, my loves. Sincerest apologies.”) he'd he kissed her and Hope on the tops of their heads and hurried upstairs to shower and dress.

Shortly after Killian left, Henry trudged into the kitchen and began to fill his plate.

“Where did you leave my Astronomy Club permission slip?” he asked Emma, after a quick good morning and between mouthfuls of eggs.

“On the dining room table, near your backpack,” she replied cooly. “Why do you even need permission anyway? You're going out on your stepfather's ship _with_ your stepfather.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “It's just the rules, Mom,” he replied.

“Who else is going?” Emma asked, sipping her coffee and not looking at him. She knew it was best not too act _too_ interested if she wanted any scoop from her teenager.

“Violet?” Hope chimed in cheerfully.

“You too?” he asked Hope in mock outrage. “Traitor!”

His little sister just shrugged and grinned sweetly with her ketchup-covered mouth.

“Give her a break,” Emma said. “You know she picks up on everything the rest of us say. Anyway, I'm just going to get the story from Killian afterwards, so you might as well tell me,” she teased.

“Okay, never mind,” Henry replied. “I'm quitting Astronomy Club. Who wants to do a stargazing cruise in Maine in November anyway? It's going to be freezing.”

“Don't you dare quit,” Emma playfully scolded. “Captain Jones would be devastated.”

“Fine, but I'm going to make him swear some kind of pirate's oath not to talk about who else goes on the ship and what happens while we're out there.”

“Doesn't matter,” Emma replied with shrug as she took a sip of coffee. “I have ways of making him talk.”

“Gross.”

“That's not what I meant!”

“Mom,” Hope interrupted. “If I eat all my eggs can I have some of my Halloween candy after breakfast?”

“What? No!” Emma exclaimed in response. “It's not even eight o'clock in the morning.”

“But I waaaaannnnnnt some,” Hope whined, as if the time of day meant absolutely nothing in the face of candy.

“No,” Emma replied firmly. “You can have some after school. Besides, we have to get going.”

She stuck a couple more forkfuls of egg into Hope's little mouth, and then told her to finish her juice. She started clearing the dishes just as Killian joined them again. He took over the dishwashing as she made Hope's lunch. They took turns shouting reminders at the kids about what they needed to pack for school.

Finally, Killian helped Hope pack her backpack and pull on her boots and jacket while Emma double checked that Henry had his permission slip, his schoolwork, and his iPad, which he would want over the weekend since he was staying at Regina's.

They all piled out the front door together into the brisk autumn morning. Emma smiled as she watched Killian and Hope hold hands and skip jauntily across the lawn. All in all, it was nice, noisy, typically chaotic morning at the Swan-Jones house.

To Emma, it was perfect.

 

They dropped off the kids; Henry at the high school and Hope at Ashley's daycare, which had evolved over the years into a real preschool, complete with three full-time teachers in addition to Ashley. Hope was always happy to go there and see her friends, and she was proud to go to “school” like her big brother. Of course, she still gave Emma and Killian long, lingering hugs goodbye each day and assured them that she would miss them.

Next, Emma and Killian stopped at Granny's for coffees, exchanging chit chat and greetings with the other townsfolk who were in the diner for breakfast. They'd been back from Boston long enough that just about everyone in town knew the whole story and had offered their welcome backs and congratulations, so there was little need to spend time catching up with friends and neighbors. Killian shot Granny a habitual wink as she handed them their drinks, and she rolled her eyes and gave him an “oh you,” in return.

Per their usual routine, they settled into Emma's office upon arrival at the station. She sat in her chair and booted up the old desktop computer, and he reclined comfortably across from her in one of the guest chairs. She shook her head as she watched him sip his coffee, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it was still piping hot. It would be ten minutes before she'd be ready to drink hers with such abandon.

He watched her watching him and smirked rakishly, raising an eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes.

Such was their routine.

She shifted her focus to the computer and pulled up her email. It was the usual mix of small town complaints, spam, and bureaucratic notifications from the Mayor's Office.

“Great,” she said to Killian. “Regina wants to go over the budget again next Tuesday. She does realize that we can just trade in some doubloons or conjure up a magic cashier's check if we need a new cruiser or something, right?”

When she didn't hear him chuckle, she glanced from her computer screen, and saw that his brow was creased with tension.

“What?” she asked, feeling like she was missing something.

“Nothing,” he replied.

He was lying.

She peered at him for a moment, and then looked back at her screen to pull up the calendar. He was acting weird, but that was no reason she should forget to create a calendar entry for a meeting.

As soon as she opened the calendar application, she realized it.

Today. Today was November 3. Shit.

How had she forgotten?  She'd thought of it, remembering its approach with dread before their trip back to Boston and even on the morning of Halloween, but she'd lost track again during the past few days.

“Oh,” she said quietly, continuing to stare at the screen as the feelings and memories came flooding back.

“Swan, love, I didn't know if I should remind you,” he said apologetically. “Or if perhaps you had already remembered.”

“No,” she replied, and she knew it sounded cold, but she couldn't help it. “I didn't remember.”

“I'm sorry. I know that today is always dreadful for you.”

Emma felt blindsided. She knew that she shouldn't feel the hurt of an abandonment that happened more than thirty years ago, but she did. She had been a child, practically a baby for heaven's sake. The anger on behalf of all babies, on behalf of her little Hope, started to well up in her. She felt the lump of hurt and angry tears form in her throat, but she fought to keep her feelings in check.

Killian got up from his seat and sat on the desk in front of her. She continued to stare at the computer screen, knowing that if she looked at him and saw the love and concern in his face, the dam would break and she would cry.

He seemed to be considering what to say, whether to reach out for her, when the phone rang.

She grabbed at it like it was a lifeline.

“Sheriff's office,” she answered thickly, still fighting tears.

“Sheriff Swan?” It was a man's voice she recognized. Peter, the pumpkin farmer, she realized. He went on to explain that he'd been engaged in an ongoing confrontation with his neighbor about the boundaries between their pieces of land. Apparently, that morning, the neighbor had gotten up bright and early and begun erecting a fence where he believed the boundary was, but which Peter believed was two feet onto the perimeter of his own land. They had shouted and nearly come to blows, and he needed help settling the dispute.

Emma assured him that they could help, thinking that they could pull the official maps of the properties from Town Hall and then bring them out to show the two landowners.

Her own trauma temporarily forgotten, she hung up the phone and explained the situation to Killian.

“I understand, love, but perhaps they can wait until we've talked for a moment,” he replied, not moving from his spot on her desk even as she stood and pulled on her jacket.

“Nope,” she retorted. “Can't wait. Peter was all fired up. We don't want these guys getting into a fist fight or, worse, grabbing pitchforks over this. We should get over to Town Hall and then get out there.”

Killian sighed in defeat and stood to leave with her just as the phone rang again.

Emma sighed in annoyance before she grabbed it. “Sheriff's office.”

“Emma? It's Blue,” came the answer on the other end of the line.

“Oh, hey,” Emma replied. She was surprised and off-kilter. The Blue Fairy, now the Mother Superior at the local convent, never called her unless it was something really serious and usually magic-related.

“What can I do for you?” Emma continued.

“I wonder if you could come over here today. There is a delicate and urgent matter that I need to discuss with you.”

“Okaaaay,” Emma replied slowly, shooting a glance at Killian, who raised a curious eyebrow. “Is everything all right? Are we in danger? Is it the dark fairies again?” She heard the pitch of her own voice raise in concern. Killian was looking at her intently.

“No, nothing like that,” Blue assured her. “There's just a situation I need to discuss with you. Only you, if that's all right.”

Emma's curiosity was piqued. She glanced at Killian again. He was more than capable of handling the farmers' land dispute on his own.

And, she had to admit, she wouldn't mind a few minutes alone to process her realization of what today's date was without his well-intentioned and loving concern. She felt awful about that. Eventually, she would let him comfort her, but right now, she needed to wallow in it for a while. He would understand. He always did.

“Sure, Blue. I'll be right over,” Emma said into the phone before hanging up. She felt Killian's eyes on her. She didn't look up to meet them as she continued to pull on her jacket.

“So, um, Blue wants to talk to me about something kind of urgent,” Emma said to Killian. “You can handle this farm thing on your own, right? Once you get the property line records, it should be easy to settle the issue.”

“Swan,” he said. “I think we should talk first.”

She finally looked up to meet his gaze, willing him to see that she was okay for the moment. She just needed some time to process things.

“Killian, it's okay. I had forgotten what today was, but now I remember. It's all right. No big deal. I'm happy to just keep busy all day.”

She held eye contact with him as he searched her face. Then, as he usually did, he followed her lead.

“Okay,” he said. “I'll take the cruiser and call you when I'm on my way back.”

She felt a pang of guilt at sending him off alone. Of course it was nothing that he couldn't handle, but she knew that he would spend the whole drive out and back worrying about her. She promised herself that they would talk, _really_ talk, later.

He grabbed a set of car keys from her desk, and together they silently walked to the station's parking lot. Killian gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes and nodded goodbye before turning towards the old police cruiser.

“Hey,” she called, as she jogged a couple steps towards him. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Be careful with those old coots,” she said stupidly.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly at the term but simply replied, “As you wish, love.” This time, the goodbye grin he gave her was more genuine, and she felt a little better.

She forced herself to breathe deeply as she drove the short distance to the convent at the edge of town. Her mind kept trying to conjure up terrible visions of those cold, faceless parents giving a sobbing Hope, who so resembled Emma when she was a child, back to a social worker.

She pushed the images aside as best she could.

She focused on what she knew to be true in the here and now. She had a family now, a big one. She may have been unwanted as a child, but now she and her own children were loved and wanted as much as anyone.

She was okay.

She would be okay.

She was starting to feel better, more focused on the present, as she pulled into a spot in front of the convent and climbed the steps to the main entrance.

Blue's office could generously be described as spartan, but to Emma, the word “foreboding” always came to mind. The curtains were half drawn, and a stained glass desk lamp provided little additional illumination. There a were few decorations, mostly of generic Christian iconography, that were holdovers from the days of the curse. The fairy hadn't bothered to add many personal touches since she'd gotten her real memory back years ago.

Blue's cold, business-like demeanor was such a far cry from what Emma would have imagined a fairy's would be like before she knew that fairies were real. Plus, Blue was as different as could be from Emma's friend Tink, who oozed warmth and kindness while wielding a wicked sense of humor.

Blue's shoulders were tense and her expression was as serious as ever as she greeted Emma and offered her a cup of tea. Emma politely declined the drink and sat down in the guest chair across from Blue's desk.

“Thank you for coming over so quickly, Emma,” Blue began. “I know that your family has had a difficult time lately, and I waited as long as I could to bring this to you.”

“Okay, the suspense is killing me,” Emma chided, shifting uncomfortably in her seat and trying to break the somber mood. “What's up?”

Blue sighed and glanced up at her closed office door as if to confirm that they wouldn't be disturbed.

“Did you ever meet a novice, a young fairy, named Winifred? She's small, with reddish hair. She left us almost a year ago.”

Emma wracked her brain, still curious about where this was going. “Uh, I kind of remember some scuttlebutt about one of the fairies leaving town. Did something happen to her?”

Blue sighed a long-suffering sigh. “Yes,” she replied. “That is, she's okay, but she's in a predicament. You see, Winifred had decided that our order and life in our small town was not for her, and she was quite adamant about it. I had suggested that we find a way to return her to the Enchanted Forest, but she was not interested in that. It seemed she was quite taken with the modern way of life here, with media and entertainment.”

“So...she liked movies? TV? Instagram? Sounds like most young people,” Emma said with a shrug.

“Yes, well, our order requires a certain discipline,” Blue answered. “It was clear to me that Winifred was not in possession of it, so I agreed to let her leave Storybrooke. We gave her some funds and taught her what she would need to know to find a place to live, a job. She was planning to go to New York.”

“A nice cheap place to live,” Emma snorted. Her mind was threatening to wander unless this fairy got to the point about what this had to do with her.

“Several weeks ago, she returned to Storybrooke,” Blue continued.

“Oh?”

“Yes, and as it turns out, she is expecting. Thirty-one weeks, as it seems. She has seen Dr. Whale twice now. Thankfully, she and the baby are both healthy. Unfortunately, the father is out of the picture already, and well, Winifred does not want to raise a child.”

Emma's blood felt like it had turned to ice water. Her stomach suddenly began to churn.

Why this?

Why _today_ of all days?

She had to look away from Blue as her mind raced.

She struggled to maintain her composure. She took a few shallow breaths and looked back up at the senior fairy, who had the good grace to look apologetic.

“I know it must be emotional for you, to hear about someone else in this situation. I'm sorry to spring it on you so suddenly,” Blue said.

Emma shook her head. “It's okay,” she replied, her voice a little shaky. “So, does she need somebody to talk to about her options, like giving it up for adoption?”

“Well, we've talked a lot, and she spent some time back in New York talking to social services, and one private adoption agency. She knows she wants to give the baby to a loving home.” Blue hesitated, looking at Emma carefully before continuing. “The trouble is that, she, like a lot of us here in town, know your story, what you went through in this world's system. She feels like, if she gives the baby up outside of Storybrooke, it will end up in group homes or foster care, like you did.”

Emma nodded, not trusting her voice again.

What she went through.

Even though almost everybody in town had gotten their happy endings, there were a lot of sad backstories that had come before. Somehow, among all those sad stories, hers was so tragic that it was memorable even to virtual strangers like this Winifred.

Her mind repeated the date to her again: November 3. The day they gave her back.

She stared at Blue, waiting for the rest. She thought she knew what was coming, and she wished that Killian was there by her side. Her hand physically twitched with the urge to reach out for his hook, as if he was sitting in the empty chair to her right.

“So she wants a private adoption, here in Storybrooke,” Emma clarified, because Blue seemed to be waiting for her signal to continue.

“That's right,” Blue replied gently. “And I hope you don't mind me coming to you first, but I thought that, under the circumstances, you and Killian might consider it.”

“I see.”

“I hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries. It's just that, Winifred knows a lot about you, what you overcame to become the person that you are. She thinks the world of you, and she really wanted to ask you first. I didn't know whether you and Killian were considering having another child, or if you've ever thought about adopting...” Blue was rambling, and Emma was surprised to see that the woman was a little flustered.

“No, it's okay,” Emma assured her. She was surprised by her urge to comfort Blue given the bomb she'd just dropped on Emma. “I understand why you'd think of us. It's just...honestly, I wish Killian were here.” Emma heard her own voice break on the last words and felt tears spring to her eyes.

This was a lot for one day.

“Perhaps I should have asked you both to come in,” Blue conceded. “I want to keep this matter as private as possible. I also thought that, given your own sensitive history with adoption, you might want to consider it and have the chance to refuse before bringing him into it.”

Emma shook her head vehemently. “Nope. That's not the way we operate,” she said, a little more coldly than she'd intended.

Blue frowned at the mild rebuke and looked down at the papers on her desk.

Emma took a deep breath and tried to organize her thoughts.

“How far along did you say? Was it thirty-one weeks?” she asked.

“That's right.”

“Why did she wait so long?”

“Well, she's been back for a couple of months, actually,” Blue replied. “It's just that, you were gone. In Boston.”

“Right. And how old is she, Winifred?”

“She's nineteen,” Blue replied.

“I see. And she's sure she wants to give it up? I mean, as sure as anyone can be.” Emma heard the emotion in her own voice and willed herself to keep it together.

“Yes,” Blue answered firmly. “She still wants a life, a career, outside of Storybrooke.” The woman paused. “Actually, she's asked for a forgetting spell, after she gives birth, to forget about the pregnancy and the baby.”

“Oh, no,” Emma breathed. She didn't know this girl at all, hadn't ever met her, but she knew that using magic to forget was the wrong choice. For as much as Emma's seventeen-year-old self would have wished to forget about giving up her own son, it was a choice that she made; a choice that she had to live with. And as the years went by, she grew to truly understand that it was the right choice, a choice made in love and with hope for the best possible future for her baby boy.

“I advised her against the forgetting spell,” Blue added. “I think it would be a mistake.”

Emma nodded firmly.

Her emotions were like a storm churning inside of her. Her mind raced as she tried to process it all.

This poor girl had been all alone in New York, growing more and more afraid that her baby would have a terrible life.

Emma's family's life was just getting back to normal, and she liked it that way. If they said yes to this, they would have a new baby in the house in just two months. Did they want that? Were they ready to do it again?

The truth was, they had talked about having another baby. Emma wasn't taking birth control pills during her time in Boston. Her love life there had been decidedly nonexistent in the weeks before she “met” her handsome neighbor who also happened to be her husband that she didn't remember. Just a few nights ago, she and Killian had agreed that she'd stay off of the pills, and that they would see what happened. But another pregnancy was still just an idea; a possibility that could be a year or two away.

This was a brand new _baby_ , a brother or sister for Hope and Henry that would be here right after Christmas.

If she said no, what would happen to the baby? Were there other families in town who would take it? Sean and Ashley? Her parents?

“I know that it's a lot,” Blue said quietly. “Please take some time to think about it. And you can meet her, Winifred, any time, if you would like.”

“Right,” Emma replied. She stood, straightened her shoulders, and did her best to give Blue a calm and confident look. “Thank you for thinking of us. I will talk to Killian about it. We'll just...need a few days to think. Although, I realize that there isn't much time.”

“No, there isn't,” Blue agreed. “Thank you, and again, I apologize for the suddenness, and for not asking Killian to be here.”

Emma waved off the apology, smiled what felt like a wan smile, and turned to the door.

As she placed her hand on the handle, she thought of one more question. It didn't really matter; wouldn't factor into their decision, but she wanted to know anyway.

“Does she know if it's a boy or a girl?” Emma asked. Her back was still turned to the fairy.

“Dr. Whale said that it's a girl,” Blue replied quietly.

Emma nodded. “Okay. Thanks,” she managed to say before quickly turning the handle and leaving the office.

She made her way to the main entrance of the convent and practically stumbled down the steps towards her car.

Once inside the tiny yellow Volkswagen, she put her arms onto the steering wheel, rested her head on them, and cried.

She only allowed herself a few moments of tears, after which she quickly sat up straight and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. She focused on breathing, in and out, and tried to organize her thoughts.

Blue could be mercurial, but she had good intentions. She hadn't meant to make this request of Emma on this day of all days. At least, Emma thought she hadn't. She supposed Blue could have found out the significance of this date to Emma, but as unreadable as the fairy sometimes was, there was no reason for her to try to manipulate Emma this way.

Adopting a baby. She had thought about it before, to be honest. It was something she and Killian had even spoken about once or twice after they'd moved in together and on the rare occasions they had a quiet moment to discuss the future. But she had found out she was pregnant shortly after the wedding, and they had been so focused on Hope ever since.

Hope.

Emma knew right away that Henry would be thrilled if they adopted Winifred's child. She wasn't worried about him at all. Hope would also be excited about the prospect of a baby sister as well, but what would they tell her? She'd known pregnant women before; had seen pictures of Emma when she was in “Mommy's tummy.” They would have to tell her that the baby was adopted, right? But then the child would have to know? How did other people handle this?

She stopped her musings suddenly, realizing that she was already acting as if she was going to say “yes.” This was all happening fast, and it had to, but she needed time to think, and most of all, she needed to talk it through with Killian.

She put the car in gear and headed back to the station, hoping that the farmers' dispute was already settled and that he'd be back soon.

As it turned out, luck was not on her side. When she got back to the station, she received a text from Killian telling her to go ahead and have lunch without him. He'd run into Regina at Town Hall, and when he told her about the property line dispute and the need to pull the town records, she'd insisted on doing it herself and coming with him to make sure that the issue was properly settled.

Apparently, Deputy Jones was now standing off to the side texting with Sheriff Swan-Jones while The Mayor was condescendingly and painstakingly walking off the correct property lines with the chastened farmers.

Emma chuckled as they texted back and forth. Poor Killian. Regina had even had ridden in the cruiser with him.

He asked how her meeting with Blue had gone, and she just said “fine” and that she'd fill him in when he returned. He assured Emma that he'd be back as soon as he could and signed off with kissing face emojis and a little sailboat.

She sighed and contemplated how to kill time and not drive herself crazy with anxiety while she waited for Killian to come back so they could talk. She had just opened up the old desktop PC to check the official Storybrooke PD email when another call came in.

This time, it was Mr. Smee. He was working out on the Jolly Roger and had seen some of the former Lost Boys passing around a bottle in a paper bag in a remote part of the docks. He was pretty sure they weren't of age and was worried they'd get drunk and steal or vandalize a boat. Emma agreed to come down to check it out and issue citations if needed.

She rolled her eyes as, before hanging up, Smee asked for her word that she'd tell the kids that the tip came from an anonymous source.

“Bad blood between us, you see,” he said. “Goes way back.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Emma replied before hanging up and once again grabbing her jacket.

By the time she dealt with the underage boozehounds and grabbed some lunch from the market (she wasn't in the mood to face Granny's) it was mid-afternoon.

Killian was sitting as his desk in the bullpen when she arrived, and he immediately stood to greet her.

“Hello, love, did everything go all right?” he said, taking a few steps toward her as she stood by her office door. “I got your text about the Lost Boys. Those miscreants.”

“They didn't put up a fight,” she replied tiredly. She held up the white paper bag she was holding. “Did you eat? I only ate half of this turkey sandwich.”

“Aye, Regina insisted that we stop to dine on the way back into town.  She wanted to give me her thoughts on the budget,” he replied with a predictably disgruntled look.

Emma chuckled. He was here, and he was adorable, and as a result, she could feel the knot of tension that had developed in her shoulders start to relax.

He followed her into her office as she took off her leather jacket and hung it on the rack. She tossed the remains of her lunch onto the desk and sat down in her chair. Killian sat down across from her and filled her in on the rest of his property line dispute adventure. She found herself laughing out loud at his impressions of the two embarrassed farmers actually _teaming up_ against Regina as she was yelling at them about their dispute.

She knew that he was trying to help her relax, and she appreciated it, but after a few minutes of chit-chat, it felt like they were just delaying the inevitable.

“So,” he said finally. “I am sorry about this morning.”

She felt her mood instantly darken as she remembered waking up blissfully happy, unaware that she would be blindsided not once but twice in the coming hours.

“Why didn't you remind me?” she asked him. She kind of already knew, but a part of her did resent him. She hated herself a little bit for that.

“You seemed to happy, so carefree,” he said. He kept his eyes up, and they were full of that sincerity she loved. They also held a measure of regret. “I knew that, you'd eventually remember, but that delaying the memory might be a gift, so that you could have a happy morning.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“I suppose a part of me hoped that you _had_ remembered,” he continued quietly. “That perhaps you'd...”

“Gotten over it?” she snapped. “Suddenly become totally fine with being given back to an orphanage at age three because my family didn't want me anymore?” She hated the venom she heard in her voice, but the stress of the day had returned and she couldn't help it. “Sorry to disappoint you. I guess I'm just too broken to be fixed that quickly.”

His face fell, and he looked down at the floor in shame. Instantly, her heart twisted in agony with the knowledge that she had hurt him. But before she could apologize, he spoke.

“I'm sorry, Emma,” he said quietly. “I handled this all wrong. I didn't at all mean to imply that you should have somehow moved past this.” He had raised his eyes again to look at her, and all she saw was sincerity and love.

Now she felt really shitty.

She took a calming breath and then stood up. She walked around the desk to the chair where he was sitting and stood in front of him. He looked up at her questioningly, as if he might be expecting further admonishment.

“Make room,” she said simply.

He smiled slowly and raised his arms, holding them open in readiness. She climbed onto his lap, her legs off to one side. She put her arms around his neck, and rested her head on his shoulder. Emma could feel them both relax as they began to breathe in sync. Killian stroked her hair with his hand.

“I'm sorry,” she said finally. “You didn't do anything wrong. Today just...well it turned out to be even crazier than I could have imagined.”

He pulled back a little so that he could look her in the eyes. “What happened? Was it the meeting with Blue?”

She sat up straighter but kept her hands on his shoulders. “It sure was,” she replied. “She has a bit of a situation at the convent, and she has a request for us.”

“All right,” Killian replied, furrowing his brow as he waited for her to explain.

Emma told him about Winifred, and her dreams of living in New York, and the boy who had gotten her pregnant and then left her alone. She told him how the girl wanted the baby to go to a loving home here in Storybrooke.

“She's pretty far along, thirty-one weeks, so ideally this would have been settled sooner, but we were away in Boston...” Emma finished, looking at him. Her stomach was full of butterflies and her palms were sweaty.

She wanted this, she thought, and she needed him to want it too.

She saw the realization, as well as the shock, grow in Killian's eyes as he studied her.

“Wait, love, are you saying...she wants us to take the baby?” She could feel that he was holding his breath even as his heart began to pound rapidly.

“Yep! We were hand selected. The girl has taste.” Despite her attempt at levity, she could feel her eyes filling with tears. “I guess, she knows a little bit about us, and she liked the idea of the baby coming home with us.”

She watched him expectantly, her nervousness growing. Killian appeared to be speechless.

“Say something, Captain,” she whispered. Her heart was pounding now too. How had she become so invested in this so quickly?

He blinked a few times, then looked up to study her face. He could always read her so well, and she saw the moment that he realized how much she wanted it.

“You want to do this,” he said.

She shook her head, still surprised how certain she had become. “I mean, after a few hours to adjust to the idea, I'm thinking, yeah we should.” She paused and looked him firmly in the eyes. “But _we_ need to want to do this, not just me.”

“How would it work?” he asked. “Does the mum just sign a piece of parchment and leave town, and we never see her again? What if she changes her mind?”

Emma bit her lip. “We would need to work out those details, but she's very serious about this. She wants to go back to New York. I guess she could change her mind, but, we'd have to cross that bridge when we came to it. We can go and meet her any time to talk to her.”

“So you didn't meet her, today?”

“No.”

“And Blue didn't want me there to discuss this?” His brow was furrowed in worry as he asked this.

Emma tilted her head and studied the worry in his face. “No,” she answered. “She thought that, given that adoption was a very personal issue for me, she wanted to bring it to me first. I guess to give me a chance to say 'no.' Kind of weird, but that's Blue.”

“I see,” he replied. His eyes were distant for a moment, but then he blinked and firmly met Emma's gaze again. “Okay,” he said finally.

“Okay?” Emma whispered. The tears were welling in her eyes again.

“Emma if this child needs a family, a home, and fate saw fit to bring her to us, I can't imagine refusing. Especially not today of all days.” His eyes were a little wet now too, but his voice was clear and firm.

Emma's heart leapt, and she made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and sob as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He returned her embrace fiercely, holding her tight as she breathed against his neck. When she pulled back to look at his face, his cheeks were wet with tears. She gently wiped them away with her thumbs.

“Thank you,” was all she could say.

He wrinkled his brow in what looked like genuine confusion.

“Why are you thanking me, love? I should be thanking _you_. The idea that someone would ever look and me and entrust me with their child...it would have been unthinkable for me, for most of my life. The fact that I am even in a position to be offered this, it's only because you.”

She smiled and leaned forward so that their foreheads touched. This is what he did for her. He gave her perspective, optimism. He made her feel like the most important person in the world.

“You know, all morning I've been feeling like me forgetting what today was and then being asked to adopt this baby was some kind of strange or even cruel joke,” she said quietly, pulling back from him by just a few inches.

“And now?” he asked, his lips curving in a small smile.

“I feel like it's fate. Like it was meant to happen this way.”

“That's my optimistic savior,” he replied.

He was smiling in earnest now, and he leaned up and kissed her lightly on the lips. She smiled against his mouth, relaxing into him even as, in the back of her mind, she knew that they had a million things that they would need to think about; a million things to do.

They could have this moment, she thought as she kissed him back.

However, it was to be a short moment. She felt his phone buzz in the inside pocket of his jacket even as she heard her own phone ping from the desk.

She pulled back and signed in irritation while Killian rolled his eyes. She got up and grabbed her phone as Killian reached for his.

They both read the message from Ashley at the same time.

It read: _Hey Emma and Killian, can we chat for a few minutes at pickup today? There was a little bit of an issue with Hope. No big deal, and everyone is fine, but we should talk about it. I'll wait for one or both of you out front at 5._

“Bloody hell,” muttered Killian.

“Shit,” said Emma.

After their simultaneous curses, they made eye contact and smiled at each other. Then, Emma sighed.

Hope didn't cause trouble at school very often. She was sweet, outgoing, and good at sharing. She did have a stubborn streak though, and she could dig her heels in on certain issues. She also had a touch of her parents' independent spirits, and though she generally followed the rules, she would violate them if her instincts told her it was right to do so.

Ashley was a good friend of theirs, and she had known Hope since she was born. She had only contacted them during the school day a couple times before. Once when Hope had bumped heads hard with another child during recess, and once when she had unwittingly used her magic to topple a nearby block tower when she had gotten frustrated with her own creation. That was last year though, and it was one of the first times that Hope had shown her magic at all.

Killian, as ever, might as well have been reading her thoughts. “Think she used her magic, love?”

Emma shrugged. “I don't know. She's been pretty good about reining it in since we started those lessons.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I know, I know, there's been some stuff,” she acknowledged, thinking about breakfast food stuck on the ceiling and an immaculately conceived baby chick named Tinkerbell. “I guess we'll find out at five.”

He nodded, and then they both got back to work since they planned to both leave early and go together to Ashley's. There wasn't anything urgent to deal with, but they were behind on returning calls and answering emails.

Emma could tell that Killian was watching her and listening closely as she called Blue at the convent and arranged for them to meet with Winifred the next day around lunchtime. Blue sounded relieved and even genuinely happy. Emma's stomach was again full of nervous butterflies (she hated that metaphor now) as she took this step, but she still felt sure that this was the right direction for them.

When she hung up, she looked at Killian, who was smiling softly. “So tomorrow then,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” she replied, taking a step toward him and taking hold of his hook. “You're sure, right?”

“Aye, love, I'm sure.” He paused, seeming to realize something. “Hey, I didn't even ask. Is it a boy or...”

“It's a girl!” Emma interrupted, unable to suppress a gleeful grin.

“Wonderful, the lad and I will be officially outnumbered,” he joked. His eyes were sparkling again.

“You love it,” she teased, kissing him on the cheek.

She looked down at her phone on the desk. It was a quarter to five.

“Okay, Captain, time to see what kind of mischief Hope Margaret has gotten into to. You ready?”

“I am, love.”

He stood before her and looked at her earnestly, and she knew that he was talking about more than just being ready to leave.

Emma smiled at him.

She was ready too.

She was ready to be there for a lost child the way that nobody was ever there for her. She was ready to partner with Killian again to be parents to another amazing kid. She was ready for more happy, wonderful noise and chaos. She was ready to have November 3 take on an entirely different meaning.

They walked out of the station hand and hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Epilogue - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Part Two of the Epilogue, which has turned into a mini-fic of its own. There will be one final chapter after this one. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Note the updated tags that now include Teen Pregnancy and Adoption.

Married people develop routines. It just happens.

One might assume that this makes life boring and repetitive, and in some ways, it does. However, just like a hockey team practices their power play over and over again until they get it right, a couple's practiced routines can help them tackle life's challenges most effectively.

Such was the case with Emma and Killian. When they faced a problem, their routine was as follows: Emma would retreat inward, mentally developing a list of everything that they needed to worry about. Her list would be comprehensive, but disorganized and therefore daunting.

Killian would give her space to brood for a little while, watching her as her eyes darted back and forth reflecting the speed of her thoughts. He would be developing his own list of worries, but with the added dimension of considering what might be troubling his wife the most. When he judged the time to be right, he would gently bring up the issue and offer, if not a solution, at least a reminder to her that he would be by her side as they tackled it. That she didn't have to handle it alone.

Then, she would smile and breathe and relax, and they would vanquish their problem together.

Today, as they drove over to Ashely and Sean's house, which doubled as Hope's preschool, Killian studied Emma and tried to gauge what might be weighing most heavily on her mind as she thought about adopting the young novice's babe.

He watched her as she drove. Her eyes darted slightly as she looked at the road, and her brow was a bit furrowed. She was silent and thoughtful, and he wanted to bring her out of her shell. If he was being honest, he had his own worries and fears, and he wanted to talk.

“We can clear out the office pretty easily,” he began. “I can get the crib from downstairs, and Henry and I can reassemble it.”

Their house had four bedrooms. Killian and Emma had the master suite, and Henry and Hope each had their own room. The fourth bedroom was currently set up as a small office. It was rare that Emma or Killian had to do desk work at home, however, and Henry had a desk in his room, so the office was rarely used. He knew that they both had always assumed that it might someday be used as a nursery for a third child.

“Yep,” Emma replied. “The bassinet is still in good shape, too. I just need to give it a good cleaning. We should probably get new sheets and blankets, though. Oh, and we can move the dresser with the changing table from Hope's room, but it needs a new pad.”

“Of course, love, we'll start making a list.” He pulled out his phone, and deftly started typing one handed on his notes app. He inwardly celebrated the fact that he'd gotten her talking.

“Then it's all the usual stuff. Diapers, wipes...formula, I guess?” Emma continued. “We should probably get some new, newborn size bottles, too. I wonder how people usually handle feeding. I think I read somewhere that adoptive moms can use hormones to stimulate breastmilk production. I wonder if it's too late for me to start that?”

“We'll start some research,” he replied as he continued to type.

“Yeah, once again it would be nice to have some other health care professional besides just Dr. Whale in this town,” Emma noted with a roll of her eyes. “I am guessing some of this stuff is beyond his experience.”

Killian chuckled wryly and noted that they were turning onto Ashley's street. At least they had gotten started on their 'to do' list for the new babe, if she indeed was going to be theirs. They were meeting with the young former novice, Winifred, tomorrow to start to get to know each other and talk about next steps.

Emma sighed. “So any bets on what kind of trouble your daughter has been causing at school?” she said tiredly.

“Well, if she's anything like her mother, she was probably defending another child from a treacherous bully.”

That earned him a laugh.

“Let's hope!” she replied.

Emma parked in a spot on the street a few houses down from Ashley's, and they walked up the sidewalk and to the house hand in hand. Ashley appeared at the door before Killian even had a chance to knock. The sweet blonde woman smiled at them warmly and welcomed them into the house's small foyer.

“Hey, guys, thanks so much for coming. The kids are in the back playroom doing the goodbye song, so we can talk for a minute.”

As their daycare center and preschool had grown over the last several years, Ashley and Sean had put a large two-level addition onto the back of their house. On the ground floor, the added space became the main playroom for the preschool. Above it was an expanded master bedroom. They also had two additional bedrooms upstairs, which was helpful, because they had given Alexandra a little brother, Elliot, two years ago.

Off the playroom on the ground floor was a large deck from which a few steps led down to a fenced-in backyard. The deck held a number of toys, including a sand table that the kids used year round, and a water table that they used only in warmer weather.

When they stepped inside, Killian immediately heard the sweet sounds of one of the other teachers leading the children through the usual goodbye song, in which each child received a musical goodbye by name. He was struck with an eagerness to see Hope and wrap her into an enormous hug.

But first, they had business.

Emma must have had the same thought. “So,” she said to Ashley, “what happened?”

Ashley immediately switched into her kind but firm and pragmatic teacher voice. “Well, there was a little incident with Hope and another child when they were out on the deck using the sand sensory table today.”

“Okay,” Emma replied.  
  
“They were playing with cars in the sand,” Ashely explained. “The other child, Aidan, started pulling all the cars toward his corner of the table, basically hoarding them. Hope and the other children started to complain, to ask for them back, and I guess he refused. I walked over to intervene when I heard the raised voices, but before I know it, there was a burst of air and, well, like, a two-foot-tall sand tornado rose up out of the table.”

“Bloody hell,” Killian muttered, unable to help himself.

Emma gently swatted his arm, wincing as she nodded at Ashley to continue.

“The sandstorm, I guess you'd call it, moved over to where Aidan had hoarded the cars. It picked them up and brought them back to the other kids who were gathered around the table. Then all the sand just dropped back into the table.”

Killian held his breath and offered, “That doesn't sound so bad.”

Ashley sighed, “It wouldn't have been, if Aidan hadn't gotten sand in his eyes. We had to flush them with water and he cried for quite a bit.”

“Oh no,” Emma replied.

“Yeah. I had to call his parents to let them know just so they could watch for any signs of irritation. They already came to pick him up, and they were pretty upset. They're probably going to want to talk to you.”

“Who are the parents?” Killian asked. He could picture the sharp-featured little boy, but not his folks.

“The Wicks,” Ashely replied. “They own that fancy candle shop off of Main Street.”

“Right,” Emma replied.

That jogged Killian's memory. He knew the family enough to wave and say “hello,” but they weren't friends. They were likely in for an awkward conversation.

“Did Hope apologize?” Emma asked.

“She did,” Ashley replied. “At first, when I reprimanded her for using magic to get the toys back, she insisted that she was in the right. But once she saw that Aidan had gotten sand in his eyes and was crying, she felt terrible. She apologized and then sat in the corner by herself for most of the rest of the day. We _just_ finally got her to join the goodbye circle.”

“Poor little lass,” Killian muttered. He felt bad for the little boy, but frankly, he sounded like a rascal. Hope was just trying to do right by the other children. However, he knew that she couldn't be using her magic at school. It was dangerous. He and Emma were going to have to help her see that.

“We're really sorry, Ashley,” Emma said with what sounded like a tired sigh. “We'll apologize to the Wicks, and we will sit Hope down and talk to her again about using magic here. It won't happen again.”

“I know. It's okay, guys. It is what it is. Hope's magic is really special. Everybody knows that, and people understand! Just, whatever you can do to make sure she controls it here...I'd really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Killian replied. He was craning his neck to look past Ashley towards the back playroom to try to see Hope. It had been such a harrowing day for all of them. His heart twisted with worry for her, and he felt his arms twitch with anxiousness to hold her and comfort her.

Emma must have had the same feeling because she asked Ashley, “Can we take her?”

“Of course!” Ashley replied with a warm smile. “I'll get her.”

Seconds later, Hope trudged out of the back playroom and through the converted living room on their left. Ashley trailed behind carrying Hope's little backpack.

Hope's eyes were downcast, and it broke Killian's heart that she might feel any hint of shame in front of them. He instantly stepped forward to meet her.

“Hello, little Cygnet! How is my favorite first mate?” he called, kneeling down so he could look her in the face.

She finally looked up from the floor to meet his eyes, and though he could tell she was fighting it, she smiled. It warmed his heart.

“Hi, Daddy,” Hope said finally.

He pulled her into a big hug and stood up, and she hugged him back with gusto, burying her little face in his neck. He supported her with his left arm and stroked the back of her blonde hair with his hand. He glanced down at Emma who was smiling at them. Her brow was furrowed slightly, but her eyes were full of adoration. He winked at her, and her smile widened.

He continued to hold Hope as she greeted Emma with a kiss. Emma took Hope's backpack, and they all said their goodbyes to Ashley.

Outside by the car, Emma paused for a moment before unlocking the doors and gave Killian a nod that he knew to mean, “Let's just deal with this now, while it's still relatively fresh in her mind.” He nodded back and put Hope down so that she stood on the grass by the curb. Both parents knelt down in front of their daughter.

“Sweetheart,” Emma began, “do you remember the rules we made about magic before you started school?”

“But Aidan took ALL the cars!” Hope cried righteously.

“I know,” Emma continued calmly. “What he did was wrong. But the right choice for you would have been to call one of the teachers over, not use magic to get the cars back.”

Killian just watched Emma with admiration. She was so good at this. He constantly strove to emulate her patience and her short, direct statements to the young girl.

Hope nodded, and it hurt Killian's heart to see that her little lip was quivering.

“Sweetheart, we know that you were just trying to help your friends,” Killian said gently as he stroked her arm and reached down to take her little hand. “We are  _very_ proud of you for standing up for them. But, you must remember, your magic is very special and is just to be used at home when Mummy is helping you practice.”

The righteous indignation returned to Hope's face. She released Killian's hand and crossed her arms over her chest. “But I can't always help it! Sometimes when I think something or want something, it just happens!” she exclaimed.

Killian glanced over at Emma, who looked sadly and sympathetically at their daughter before pulling her into a hug. “I know, baby,” she said. “It's okay. We'll keep practicing.”

Killian reached out and gently rubbed Hope's back as Emma continued to soothe her. He remembered how Emma, even as an adult, had struggled to control her powers at first. Children wore their emotions on their sleeves even more than grown ups. He wondered, not for the first time, if they were really equipped to help Hope keep her powers in check just through practice and controlling her feelings.

Maybe that was just too much to ask of all of them, especially if they were adding a new baby to the mix. 

Emma turned slightly and looked up at him with a tired, commiserating smile. It was as if she was reading his thoughts and saying, “I know, babe. But one thing at a time.”

He nodded.

She pulled away from Hope and stood up. “Come on, Hope, maybe we can talk Daddy into making us grilled cheese at home.”

“Okay,” Hope replied with a sniffle as she looked up at Killian.

He grinned at her and said, “Anything for my ladies.”

She grinned back. He picked her up, placed her into her carseat, and started asking her some questions about her day as he strapped her in. She relaxed and answered happily, chatting away about the class's art project as Emma drove them all home. 

At home, Killian made grilled cheese as promised, with a side of tomato soup. They gave Hope her bath together and read with her in her room. Emma cuddled with the little girl on her small bed, and Killian sat beside them in a squat, overstuffed chair.

After they kissed a very drowsy Hope goodnight and left her in the care of her stars nightlight and stuffed animals, Killian offered to finish cleaning up the kitchen so that Emma could relax. However, twenty minutes later, he came back out to the living room to find her on the couch with her laptop open. Her eyes were closed, and she was rubbing her temples as if she had a headache. A small notepad and pencil was beside her, and he could see that she'd started to scribble another “to do” list.

He sighed and approached her. He picked up the notepad and pencil and moved them to the coffee table so that he could sit down beside her. He was on her left side, so he reached up with his hand and began to rub her neck. He could feel how much tension had gathered there during their rollercoaster of a day.

She closed the laptop and turned her head slightly. She opened her eyes just a little and breathed, “Thanks.”

“Of course, love.” He paused for a beat as he continued to rub her neck. “We don't have to sort it all out tonight.”

“I know,” she replied. “I just had some things I wanted to look up. I want to make sure I know how to talk to her when we meet her tomorrow.”

“What did you learn?” he asked.

Emma sighed and replied, “It was all pretty common sense. That we should be honest; be ourselves. That we should listen to her and not make her feel overwhelmed if she's nervous or scared. We're just getting to know her, and nobody needs to make any final decisions. But, we should also leave the meeting with a clear, shared understanding of the next steps.”

“That all makes sense,” Killian agreed.

He noticed that Emma's shoulders had relaxed a bit, so before she could think to open her laptop again, he made a suggestion. “Emma, it has been a hell of a day. You must be exhausted from the stress of it all; the anniversary, and now this adoption. Would you like to go upstairs and draw a bath for yourself? I can bring you a glass of wine.”

She turned towards him so that she faced him fully. Her brow relaxed and her green eyes were soft and full of love. He lowered his hand from her neck, and she picked it up and squeezed it tight. “That sounds amazing. But...”

He frowned as she paused, expecting her to argue that there was more to do before she could relax. Instead, she leaned in and kissed him softly. Her lips lingered on his for a tantalizing moment, and then she tugged his lower lip between hers just a bit before she pulled away.

“How about you join me?” she finished.

He must have looked surprised and probably a little wrecked, because she chuckled. “You're right, Captain. We can do more research tomorrow. I'm kind of ready to turn my brain off for today. It's fried. You get some wine. I'll go run the bath.” With that, she stood and walked slowly to the stairs, swaying her hips back and forth as she did so. The minx.

He went to the kitchen and poured a couple small glasses of wine, happy that she had taken his suggestion to take the rest of the evening off and step away from her worries. He wasn't one to gloat (oh, who was he kidding, of course he was) but even after all these years, the fact that Emma Swan trusted him enough to relax and let her guard down still filled him with radiant pride.

He turned out the lights in the kitchen and carefully carried the wine upstairs to enjoy what turned out to be quite a pleasant and _highly_ relaxing bath.

After, they dried off and dressed in their robes. They bumped hips playfully as they fought for space while brushing their teeth. Gods, he couldn't get enough of touching this woman. He doubted that he ever would.

Killian kissed Emma's cheek and whispered that he was going to go check on Hope one last time. He tiptoed into his daughter's room to find her sprawled in her usual position in her bed: on her back with her head turned slightly to the side. She was breathing deeply and out like a light as she usually was this time of night. He gently kissed the tips of his fingers and lightly pressed them to her chest, right above her tiny little heart, feeling the incredibly rapid beat common to the hearts of young children. But Hope's heart was completely unique, full of love and a magic they were just beginning to understand. She was his perfect little miracle, something he never believed could be possible for him.

When he returned to his and Emma's room, he found his wife reclined on the bed, her robe tied only loosely at her waist, exposing an expanse of milky skin and the glorious swells of her breasts, as well as her endless legs. He cocked his eyebrow and grinned at her in an exaggeratedly lascivious way as he turned back to close the door completely (these were the only times that they closed their door all the way; the extra second it would take Hope to jiggle and turn the knob were she to wander in would, theoretically, give them a moment to gather themselves.)

Though he was dying to touch her, he tried to rein in his excitement. He took his time making his way to the bed and laid down beside her, propping himself up on his left arm. She turned onto her her right side and faced him. Her loose robe fell farther off her shoulders and she raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Now what, Captain?”

Still, he focused on taking his time. He reached up with two fingers and began to slowly trace a path starting just below her ear, down the front of her elegant neck, over her breast bone towards her belly button, pausing just above it to push aside the sides of her robe. He smirked as she licked her lips and shimmied forward a little, anxious for more of his touch. It was a point scored for him in the little game of chicken they liked to play, winding each other up as much as possible before giving the other what they desperately wanted.

He made a show of looking her up and down, drinking her in, knowing his face likely betrayed every bit of his undying awe of her. The passing years and another pregnancy had done very little to change her. The tiny, puckered stretch marks on the sides of her breasts would only be noticeable to him. After all, he was an expert in every contour, every mark, every perfect feature that made his wife _Emma_.

Finally, after she shuffled forward further and keened a little, he gave in, cupping her left breast in his hand and deftly stroking his thumb across her nipple as he dove in to kiss her deeply.

Things progressed rapidly from there. They were well practiced at keeping their lovemaking quiet. He was familiar enough with her responses that he could anticipate every moan and capture it with a kiss.

After he made Emma come apart under his hand, he moved to slide into her, but she paused her movements suddenly as if remembering something.

“Oh, shit. Don't forget to pull out!” she said with a little laugh.

He took in the meaning of her words, remembering that they weren't currently protected from another pregnancy.

“Right,” he replied, between pants of anticipation.

It was glorious, as usual, and after she fell once again, he managed to control his own release long enough to, hopefully, prevent a second surprise child.

After they cleaned up and dressed in pajamas, Emma checked on Hope one more time (“just to look at her” she admitted.)

Finally, relaxed and prepared to rest up for the next day's challenges, they settled into bed. She laid against him, her head resting on his chest and her hand gently running through the dark hair there.

“We're going to be back to all-nighters with a newborn pretty soon,” she observed quietly, without any real distress.

“Aye, love. I'd thought of that,” he replied. “It just means we'll have to make the most of the next two months.” He punctuated the statement by reaching around to lift her chin softly and leaning down to kiss her again, his tongue gently seeking and finding entrance.

She playfully pushed him back. “Easy, tiger. We need sleep!” she laughed. He reveled in the sound of her relaxed happiness, and when she turned to her other side to drift off to sleep, he wrapped his arm around her waist and sailed off with her.

 

Friday morning broke cold and rainy. Hope was in a quiet mood all through breakfast and during the drive to Ashley's. When Emma asked her if she was nervous about going back to school, she simply shrugged in response.

They ran into Mrs. Wick during drop off. She was a tall, thin woman who shared the sharp, pinched features of her son. As soon as Emma recognized her in the foyer of Ashley's house, she sent Hope to hang up her backpack and immediately went over to apologize. Killian joined her, and their combined sincerity (and a hefty dose of Killian's charm) seemed to soften the woman's brusque demeanor. They promised that they would continue to work with Hope, that her powers were still very limited, and that everyone was safe to be around her.

Ashley came over to them and added her assurances that she would keep close watch. She also pointedly reminded Mrs. Wick that there had been an incident involving thrown sand earlier in the year, and that it wasn't just magic that could cause an injury. Mrs. Wick seemed a bit chastened by that (Emma suspected that her little Aidan had been the sand-thrower in question) and she accepted their apologies.

Emma and Killian said a final goodbye to Hope, who had been anxiously watching them apologize to Aidan's mother. The little girl had visibly relaxed when Emma and Killian exchanged cordial farewells with Mrs. Wick.

After she hugged her parents one last time, Hope hurriedly made her way over to the toy kitchen to play “Granny's” with another boy and girl. Emma and Killian chuckled as they watched her. She strode over to the kitchen confidently, pushed imaginary spectacles up onto the bridge of her nose, and, in an uncanny imitation of Granny herself barked, “Order up!”

Emma drove them to the station where they spent a quiet morning returning calls and looking over the budget proposal until it was time to meet Winifred.

The rain had subsided and the sun was trying to peek through grey clouds as Emma pulled the car up in front of the convent. She started to get out but paused when she noticed that Killian was making no move to exit.

“Nervous?” she asked him.

“Aye, love, a little,” he replied quietly.

“It will be fine, babe,” she assured him. “Winifred wants to do this. She wants _us_. From what I understand, she's going to be so relieved that we're saying yes.”

“I know. It's just...every time I come here, every time I see these women, I can't help but wonder what they must think of me. I think about what I did to them, back when I carelessly allowed The Crocodile to take my heart.”

“Oh damn, Killian. I had forgotten.”

“I haven't.”

She turned in the driver's seat so that she fully faced him. “Killian,” she began firmly. “Do you know why I forgot?”

He turned from the window to face her. His eyes still showed his worry, but also his curiosity about what she would say.

“I forgot,” she continued, “because I don't even think about that as being you. It was Gold who took the fairies, took their power with the sorcerer's hat. He had your  _heart_ , Killian. You had no control over your actions.”

He sighed sadly. “That may be true, love. But when those fairies think about that day, about the person who abducted them, the man they see standing before them is me, not him.”

“They understand,” she assured him. “Everyone does. And it was years ago. They wouldn't have asked us to do this if that still bothered them. Please, Killian, you need to forgive yourself. Everyone else has.”

She stared at him, pouring all of her faith in him into her gaze. More than anyone else she knew, he had a tendency to hold onto guilt and self-loathing, and it broke her heart. So, despite everything, she had to do this from time to time: reassure him that he was forgiven. That he was a good man. A hero.

He answered her reassurances with a grateful smile, and she leaned across the seat and kissed him firmly.

They exited the car and walked, rubber-stoppered hook in hand, to the front door of the convent.

Blue greeted them with her usual terseness and led them up a flight of stairs to a hallway full of similar doors. It reminded Emma of a college dorm, not that she'd ever lived in one herself. Blue knocked lightly on the second door from the stairwell, and they heard an enthusiastic, “It's open!” in response.

Blue led them in, and Emma and Killian met Winifred Pryce.

Emma wasn't sure what she'd been expecting Winifred to be like, but the girl she met certainly wasn't it. Emma supposed she expected her to be timid and scared, but this girl was smiling brightly at them as they entered her room. Winifred's dark red hair fell just past her shoulders in attractive curls that Emma suspected had only been tamed by a healthy dose of styling products. She had a generous smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her face was round, more cute than traditionally pretty, and her grey-green eyes sparkled with mirth when she smiled.

She was petite, which made the swell of her basketball sized belly that much more pronounced. She sat on the small single bed, her back propped up with pillows and her legs stretched out in front of her. She had an older model iPad in her lap, and she was pulling earbuds out of her ears. She made a move to stand, but Emma and Killian immediately assured her that there was no need.

After making the introductions, Blue took her leave. The room was small and had only one chair, so Winifred pulled her knees up as far as her belly allowed and enthusiastically patted the foot of the bed so that Emma could sit. Killian pulled up the lone chair beside Emma and sat down.

Emma had been worried that the encounter would be awkward or melancholy, but her worries were dispelled when Winifred launched right in with gusto.

“Thank you guys SO much for coming and agreeing to do this! I am, so, so relieved. I really fucked...I mean _messed_ up with that jerk in New York.” Her cheeks blushed adorably in embarrassment at her crass language, and Emma heard Killian stifle a chuckle.

“I had a whole plan, you know? I had enrolled in some acting and singing classes. I was going to start auditioning for theater, commercials, the whole thing, and then I met Brandon, who supposedly already had an agent in L.A. and told me that that I should _totally_ go out there with him.”

Emma struggled to keep up. Her eyes kept flickering to Winifred's belly, realizing just how real this was, how soon the baby would be here. _Their_ baby. Another daughter.

“Brandon,” Killian said with just a hint of acid in his tone. “He's the father?”

“Yep. The one and only,” Winifred replied, rolling her eyes. She had been brash and confident up to this point, but her eyes suddenly betrayed the fact that she was nervous. Emma realized that the young woman was probably worried that they would judge her for getting pregnant, or that they would suddenly change their minds. Winifred likely wanted to make sure they knew that she wasn't a careless, irresponsible person. She had made one mistake with one boy, and here she was.

Emma could relate to that. She could relate to that a whole hell of a lot.

Feeling a sudden, deep wave of affection for this woman she had just met, Emma reached out and took her hand. “And he bailed, right? Didn't keep his promises?”

Winifred looked down at her and Emma's joined hands, then back up to meet Emma's kind gaze. Emma felt the girl soften and saw that her eyes were suddenly wet with tears. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I told him, but he—he said he still had to go. That it probably wasn't his anyway and that I should just deal with it. He left for California a couple days later.”

Now it was Emma's eyes that were full of tears. She remembered that feeling. Of having to deal with something completely monumental and life changing when the one person you thought you had suddenly ran out on you. She felt Killian's eyes on her and glanced over to see him looking her with concern, no doubt reading her thoughts as he always did. She gave him a nod and took a breath to collect herself.

“Winifred,” Killian began, “we are so honored that you've asked us here. That you would even consider us to be the ones to adopt your babe. Is there anything that you wish to know about us that you don't already?”

Winifred turned to look at Killian, and Emma could see how his trademark sincerity had impressed the girl.

“I'm the one that's honored!” she replied to him. “Everyone in town knows all about you guys. How Emma broke the original curse, how you turned your life around and became a hero. You sacrificed yourself to overcome The Dark One curse, and then Emma won The Final Battle. Everyone in town looks up to you two! Plus, the True Love thing is  _crazy_ romantic. Oh, and I've seen you, your whole family, at Granny's, and around town. Hope is so adorable, and you guys all just look so happy all the time!”

Emma and Killian couldn't help but exchange bemused looks at the girl's list. But Emma wanted to make sure that Winifred had thought everything through, so she turned serious.

“We are thrilled that you think so highly of us,” she said. “And we would love to be your baby's parents. But, we need to make sure you really want this, and that you really want _us_. All those things you said are true, but who we are means that we often end up being targets of some pretty nasty things. Our family has been in danger more times than I can count. You know about what we just went through in Boston, right? With Hope?”

Winifred returned Emma's serious gaze. “Yes,” she replied solemnly. “Mother Superior told me the story. You were cursed. You had no memories of who you really were, but you _still_ ended up together. You broke another curse and you saved Hope! It's amazing! I mean, True Love, right?”

Emma was still uneasy, worried that this girl was over-romanticizing what they had gone through and ignoring the very real danger that Hope had been in. Winifred must have sensed her concern.

“Look, I know I'm excited, and I probably seem a little crazy, but I _have_ thought this through,” she assured them. “I've lived in Storybrooke and I've lived outside of Storybrooke. I know enough about the system out there to know that I don't want my baby to get caught up in it. And even though I don't believe that Storybrooke is the right place for me, for my dreams, I do think that it is a wonderful place for a child to grow up. You guys are already amazing parents. Everyone can see it. I know that you'll love and protect this kid just like your other kids. I _know_ it. I believe that, if you adopt my baby, I can move on and go back to living out my dream.”

She continued to grasp Emma's hand, and her eyes moved back and forth between Emma's and Killian's. She was serious, and she was being honest. She wanted this. They all did.

Emma glanced at Killian, who returned her look with a happy grin and a slight nod that said “I'm still in if you are.”

Emma's heart swelled and she grinned back at him.

Turning to Winifred, Emma took a deep breath and said, “Okay, so we're doing this!”

“Yeah?” Winifred cried, gripping Emma's hand harder and leaning forward on the bed.

“Yep,” Emma replied as she felt the tears return to her eyes. After a beat, she scooted forward and pulled Winifred into a hug. She was so grateful to this young woman for being so brave, and for believing in them. She also needed her to know that they would protect her and take care of her for as long as she needed. Emma tried to pour all of that into the hug, knowing that all the words and plans and details could come later. She felt Winifred's shoulders relax in relief as she returned Emma's embrace.

After a moment, Winifred pulled back, dabbed at her eyes, and addressed them both again.

“Okay, so you guys are going to want to come to my next ultrasound appointment, right?” she said.

Emma glanced at Killian, they were both a little taken aback at the pace at which things were moving.

“Yeah, of course,” Emma finally replied.

“Great, so that's next Thursday at 10 AM,” she said.

Killian took out his phone and began to type a calendar entry.

“Oh, and the official due date is January 12 but I have a weird feeling that she's going to come early. She's super active, and I feel like I'm HUGE. So maybe, just, be prepared for that.”

She gasped suddenly and put her hands over her mouth. “Shit! Wait,” she exclaimed. “You knew it was a girl, right? Did I just give it away? Did you want to be surprised?”

Killian chuckled and Emma smiled and replied, “We knew, don't worry.”

“Phew. That's a relief!” Winifred replied. She then continued to enthusiastically tick through a list of everything that had been on her mind since deciding to give up her baby, and Emma and Killian were happy to listen, exchanging amused looks here and there.

Emma was relieved to find out that Winifred had been having some sessions with Dr. Archie Hopper, the town psychiatrist, and that she would continue to see him every week. (“Oh, right, he married you guys!” Winifred had cried happily after asking if they knew Archie. “I saw the pictures. You looked so absolutely incredibly gorgeous!”)

Emma gently suggested that they ask Archie to help them draft up an adoption agreement, and Winifred happily agreed.

“But I'm not going to change my mind,” she assured them. “I know you're worried about that. Of course you are. But I really won't.”

Emma believed her.

Blue came back in to see if Winifred wanted to come downstairs for lunch, and they all agreed to walked down together, as it was time for Emma and Killian to head back to work.

Killian, being the gentleman that he was, offered Winifred his arm as she waddled down the steps. She gave him a surprisingly graceful and charmingly genteel curtsey as a thank you when they reached the bottom, and Emma suddenly had vision of this charismatic girl playing a brash, witty woman in a movie adaptation of a Jane Austen novel.

She suddenly, desperately wanted all of Winifred's dreams to come true.

After they said their goodbyes, Killian and Emma took their time making their way to the car. Emma focused on taking deep breaths and forced herself not to get overwhelmed by how much there was to do in the next two months. They would manage. They always did.

The sun was shining now. It had turned into a beautiful, crisp autumn afternoon. Killian and Emma leaned against the passenger side of the car for a moment, taking everything in.

“So, January 12. Or sooner. A new baby daughter,” Emma said.

“Aye,” Killian replied with a note of awe in his voice.

“Winifred's amazing,” Emma added.

Killian grinned. “Aye, she's a spitfire,” he replied. “This little girl might be quite the handful if she takes after her mum.”

“Great, another one,” Emma said, rolling her eyes and thinking of all the challenges they still had ahead of them with Hope, her magic, and her stubborn insistence on fighting injustice.

“Are you all right?” Killian asked after a moment as he turned to look down at her. “I know some of her story might have been painfully familiar for you.”

It was true. Beneath her excitement about the baby were swirling memories of sitting on a prison cot looking at a positive pregnancy test. Still reeling from being betrayed and left to take the fall for a robbery she didn't commit, seventeen-year-old Emma Swan had no idea what the hell she was supposed to do with a baby.

Emma sighed, turned toward her husband and leaned against him. She rested her head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. She let herself feel the hurt of those memories again, just for a moment. Then, she focused on the strength of the arms that held her and the security of knowing that she would never be alone and unloved ever again.

She pulled back a little and looked up at Killian. “I'm okay,” she said firmly. “I just really, really want to do right by Winifred, and this baby.”

“I want to as well, my love.”

She nodded, leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly.

“Then let's get to work,” she said.

After they got in and started up the car, Killian asked the question that had been on her mind since they left Winifred's room.

“So,” he said, “when do we tell the kids?”

 

They decided to give themselves a couple of days to think and adjust before telling Henry and Hope. Emma tried to tell herself that it was a good idea to wait, just in case Winifred changed her mind, but she knew in her gut that she wouldn't.

They had exchanged phone numbers with Winifred, and she had taken to texting Emma a couple of times each day, letting her know how she was feeling or whether the baby was particularly active. Her enthusiasm for involving Emma and Killian in the pregnancy continued to build Emma's comfort that the young woman was confident in her choice. Emma asked whether there was anything she needed, but Winifred assured her that Blue and the other fairies were keeping her well fed.

Regina had Henry for the weekend, and he wasn't due back at the Swan-Jones house until late Sunday afternoon. Emma and Killian decided that they would tell the children at the same time Sunday evening after dinner. Emma was confident that Henry would be excited. Hope was bound to have a million questions, but she would most likely follow her brother's lead.

Emma, Killian, and Hope spent a quiet weekend at home. They spent most of Saturday raking (and jumping into) the leaves that littered their expansive yard. They read and played and watched movies. Emma declined an invitation to Saturday dinner at her parents' house, feigning a sniffle and feeling guilty as she told Snow that she thought she might be coming down with a cold and didn't want to get anyone sick. If they were to see David and Snow, they would have to tell them about the baby. If they told them about the baby, the whole town would know in an instant.

Emma wanted to make sure her kids were all right and settled with the news before they took that step.

When Henry got home on Sunday, they ate dinner early and cleaned up most of the kitchen together. When the dishwasher was running and the counters were cleaned, Emma and Killian exchanged a glance, and she asked Henry if they could speak to him out in the living room. Killian plucked Hope out of the kitchen chair in which she'd been sitting while she colored a picture of a very fat Thanksgiving turkey. She giggled as he swung her back and forth in his arms as they made their way to the other room.

Henry sat in an armchair, and Killian and Emma sat across from him on the couch. Hope sat on Killian's knee, where he bounced her lightly. Henry eyed them warily as they settled in.

Emma glanced at Killian who nodded and deferred to her to take the lead.

“So,” she began. “Your dad and I wanted to talk to you guys about something pretty important. We LOVE you guys, and we love our family just the way it is. But, we've also been thinking that it would be really nice to grow our family even bigger.”

Emma noticed a grin begin to spread across Henry's face, and his knee started bouncing up and down excitedly. Clearly he thought he knew what was coming. However, he held his tongue and didn't interject.

“We have an opportunity to expand our family in a really wonderful way,” she continued. “A way that is very special to me and that I think will be special to Henry.”

She watched her son carefully as his smile faltered and his brow furrowed. She held eye contact with him as she continued, “There is a young woman in town who is expecting a baby, and she is choosing to make an adoption plan for it. She believes that adoption is her best chance to give the baby a happy life and a loving family.” She glanced at Killian before finishing, “We've agreed to be the baby's parents.”

She had chosen her words carefully, making sure that Henry knew, as always, that babies were given up for adoption because the birth mother loved the child and wanted what was best for it. His smile returned as he held her gaze.

“Whoa, guys,” Henry breathed. “That's amazing!”

Emma let out a breath in relief and grinned as she replied, “It is, right?”

Hope was looking between the three of them with confusion. Emma turned to her and winced at the perplexed expression on her daughter's little face.

Maybe they should have told each kid separately.

“Huh? You're buying a baby?” Hope finally asked with her trademark bluntness.

She sat sideways in Killian's lap so that she was turned towards Emma. Emma took Hope's hands in both of hers and squeezed them.

Killian leaned down and kissed the top of his daughter's little blonde head. “Not buying, darling. This young woman who is having the baby has chosen your mother and me to be the parents. After the baby is born, we'll take her home and she'll be our daughter just like you are.”

“It's a girl?” Henry interjected.

“Aye,” Killian replied happily.

Hope's face was still scrunched up. “So there will be a baby, but she won't be in Mommy's tummy like I was?”

“No sweetheart,” Emma replied. “She won't come from my tummy. You know how Regina is Henry's mom just like I am, even though Henry was in my tummy?”

Hope nodded solemnly. She did understand the basic logistics of adoption because of Henry's history, and that was going to help them here.

“Well, your daddy and I will be the mom and dad to your new sister, like Regina is Henry's mom _just_ as much as I am. We're going to take care of her and love her just like we love you and Henry. She'll be our kid just the same as you guys are.”

“But, will we share her with her other mommy?” Hope wondered.

Emma and Killian exchanged glances and Killian replied, “No, darling. She'll be with us all the time, so it's a little bit different from how it is with Henry. Her other mom is going to go live in another city, so she won't be around. But she'll be happy to know that her baby will be loved and taken care of by our family.”

Hope nodded again. “Okay,” she said. “A baby sister...so when is she coming?” She turned in Killian's lap and looked towards the front door, as if any second it was going to swing open and reveal her new baby sister.

Emma saw Henry stifle a grin. She knew that he must have a million questions, and she appreciated him giving his sister a moment to process this confusing news. They let Hope ask some more questions, like where would the baby sleep, what would she eat, and what was her name.

“Well, baby,” Emma answered to the last one, “we'll have to pick out a name for her.”

“Can I pick it?” Hope asked excitedly.

Emma sputtered as she had a sudden vision of Hope insisting that they name the baby Tinkerbell 3, and she couldn't help but cringe. She noticed that Killian's eyebrows had shot up to the top of his forehead.

“Um,” Emma replied finally, “maybe we can all work together as a family to pick out a name.”

Killian nodded. “That's a grand idea,” he added.

Hope seemed satisfied with that, and she cuddled quietly with Killian for a few minutes as Henry took his turn to ask about the birth mother and when the baby was due. Emma told him about Winifred; about how wonderful she was and how excited that she was that they had agreed to adopt her baby. He was shocked, of course, when he found out that she was due in early January.

“Aye, lad, it's soon,” Killian acknowledged. “I may need some assistance carrying items up from the basement and reassembling the crib.”

“You got it,” Henry replied.

Emma grinned with pride and got up to ruffle her son's hair and kiss his forehead. He stood and pulled her into a hug.

“I can't get used to how much taller than me you are, Kid,” she said as she held him tightly.

“I've been taller than you for a while, Mom,” he replied with a smile. He then pulled back and continued, looking with seriousness between her and Killian, “I think this is awesome, you guys. I'm really happy. I'll do whatever I can to help us get ready.”

“Thanks, Henry. Truly,” Killian replied, his eyes glassy as looked with pride at his nearly grown stepson.

“So, have you told Grandma and Grandpa?” Henry asked them.

Emma winced and looked at Killian. 

“I think that may be on the agenda for tomorrow,” Killian replied for them both. “We'll be drowning in well wishers soon after!”

Henry laughed. He reached down and plucked Hope from Killian's lap. “How about I give you your bath and read you a story tonight, kiddo?” he said to his sister.

Hope beamed at him. She was used to their shared custody arrangement, and of course she enjoyed the undivided attention of her parents, but she missed Henry when he was gone. She held onto his neck and nodded. “Sounds great,” she cried. “Let's do a looooooonnnnng book.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Just this once,” he replied.

“We'll be up soon to hear the end of the story and tuck you in,” Emma told Hope before Henry carried her upstairs.

Emma collapsed back down on the couch next to Killian. She felt boneless with relief, but her mind was beginning to swim again with her next tasks and a hundred open questions

As usual, Killian brought her back to the present. “They're happy, love. They're going to adore having a baby sister.”

She turned toward him and grinned. “They are, right?”

He nodded and said, “January 12.”

“January 12,” she replied. “Plus there's the small matter of Christmas coming in about seven weeks.”

Killian smirked. “Well, what's a better gift than a new sibling?”

Emma rolled her eyes.“I'm pretty sure they're still going to expect presents, babe.”

So, they started another list before heading upstairs as promised to hear the end of Henry's story and kiss Hope goodnight.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Epilogue - Pt.3   "Thanksgiving"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't help myself with this epilogue, so I'm expanding it to four parts. Here, Emma and Killian continue to plan for the adoption of Winifred's baby, and the family celebrates Thanksgiving together. I've also included an emotional conversation between Emma and Snow, a relationship that the show underserved in later seasons. Thanks for reading!

Getting Hope to calm down Sunday night after she heard about the adoption proved to be a herculean task. She continued to pepper Henry and her parents with questions long after her bath, books, and attempted final goodnight kisses.

In the end, Killian stayed with her, curled up with her in the little twin bed among her pink and purple bedding and countless stuffed animals. Emma stood by the door to watch and listen for one more minute before she turned out the light.

“What color hair will the baby have?” Hope asked.

“Well, her birth mum has red hair,” Killian replied tiredly. “So she might have red hair too.”

“What!?!?” Hope replied with comical exaggeration as she sat up in bed and looked down at her father in disbelief. This was clearly an important and thrilling revelation.

Killian sighed and pulled her back down to rest by his shoulder. “But she might not, lass,” he added. “We really won't know until she's here.”

“And she's coming on Saturday?” Hope asked as a follow up.

Emma chuckled. Hope was still learning all the days of the week, and Saturday tended to be the one that stuck in her mind. Hence, to her, everything of any note happened on a Saturday.

“Not quite, darling,” Killian replied patiently. “It will still be a couple of months. You know how Christmas is coming in a few weeks? It will be after Christmas.”

“Will Santa bring presents for my baby sister?”

Killian sighed. Emma chuckled and decided to make her escape. She blew them each a kiss and turned out the overhead light, leaving her loves to chat by the light of Hope's nightlight.

She checked in on Henry, who was doing some reading for school in his room.

“Hey Kid,” she said. “I'm going to call Regina and give her a heads up about our news, just in case you want to chat with her about it.”

“Okay, cool, thanks,” he replied. “And Grandma and Grandpa?” he added with a small smirk.

“I was thinking of inviting them over for dinner tomorrow, or inviting ourselves to their place maybe? I don't really want a big scene at Granny's.”

“Fair enough. Sounds like a plan,” he answered with a knowing grin. He clearly knew his grandmother well enough to know that they were in for oodles of hugs and tears when she heard the news.

Emma headed downstairs and texted her parents about getting together tomorrow after work. Snow replied right away and invited them all over for dinner. She declined Emma's offer to pick up take out and assured her that they had plenty of leftover pot roast from the weekend.

Relieved that the plan to tell her parents was settled, Emma called Regina.

Henry's adoptive mom seemed genuinely happy when Emma told her their news. It also solved a little mystery for The Mayor. 

“I knew that sneaky Blue Fairy wasn't telling me everything about her runaway nun,” she said smugly. “I mean, I knew the girl was pregnant of course, but I never bought for a second that they were still trying to figure out what to do with her after all this time. Of course they were waiting to ask you two.”

“Yep, that was it,” Emma replied. “We're telling my parents tomorrow evening, so if you don't mind keeping it to yourself before then. I just wanted Henry to feel like he could talk to you if he wanted.”

“Of course,” Regina answered quickly.

She sounded touched that Emma had considered her, and Emma was inspired to offer another kindness.

“And I may need to ask you some questions,” she began. “About what it's like adopting a baby, how long it takes to adjust, and just general tips and stuff.”

“Oh please,” Regina replied in a dismissive tone with a slight undercurrent of insecurity. “You and Hook are basically parents of the year. That baby's going to love you right away. Not like Henry with me...” she trailed off, seemingly lost in a memory.

For a moment, Emma regretted bringing up what was a painful subject for both of them, but then Regina collected herself.

“I'll help however I can,” she answered firmly. “But you guys are going to be great.”

Emma thanked her and said goodbye. She putzed around the house for a little while, cleaning up. Then she headed upstairs to find out whether her four-year-old font of questions was still interrogating her three-hundred-year old pirate.

As it turned out, they were both asleep, cuddled up in the tiny bed. Emma tiptoed over and gently touched Killian's shoulder. Ever the light sleeper, he woke immediately and smiled tiredly at her. She helped him extricate himself from their soundly sleeping daughter, and together they settled Hope back onto her pillow. The little girl turned her head to the side and snorted a little in her sleep. Emma and Killian stifled their giggles, took one last look at their little dear, and then headed to bed themselves.

 

Monday evening, Emma, Killian, Hope, and Henry were greeted at the Nolans' front door by a very enthusiastic Neal. He wasn't used to the excitement of big family gatherings on an otherwise ordinary Monday, and he was practically bouncing up and down as he led a very happy Hope into the family room to play with his Paw Patrol toys. Henry sweetly offered to keep an eye on them, and Neal beamed at the attention from the nephew he idolized.

Emma and Killian followed David into the kitchen where Snow was heating up the leftovers and pulling a batch of rolls out of the oven.

“Really, Mom?” Emma chided her. “You baked on a work night? You didn't have to do that for us. Now I feel guilty.”

“Oh hush,” Snow replied. “They're Pillsbury.”

“Good,” Emma replied with a laugh.

Charming got them each a beer and they leaned on the kitchen island, angling their necks periodically to look in on the kids playing in the next room.

Snow covered the warm rolls with foil, checked on the roast she was warming up, and then leaned against the island next to David.

“So what's new, guys?” she asked innocently. “I feel like we haven't spoken in a while.”

Emma took a breath and glanced at Killian who gave her a half-smile and a shrug that said “Might as well go for it.”

“Well,” Emma began. “It's actually been kind of a crazy few days.”

David chuckled. “Crazier than the two months you guys spent living under a curse in Boston where Hook was a Revolutionary War re-enactor?” he joked.

“Fair point, mate,” Killian acknowledged with a chuckle.

Emma huffed in frustration. “Let me try again,” she said. “Have you guys heard anything about that young novice–or, I guess _fairy_ , that left the convent a few months ago and then came back?”

Snow raised an eyebrow sharply. “I have,” she replied. “There was actually a rumor going around the hospital that she was...oh, maybe I shouldn't say.” She put her hand to her mouth to keep herself from spilling a secret (for once.)

“It's okay, Mom, you can say. We know already,” Emma told her.

“She's pregnant,” Snow chirped with palpable relief.

“She is,” Emma replied. She took another breath. “And, well, she came back to Storybooke to find a family that would adopt her baby. She actually had someone in mind,” she finished, looking at them pointedly and hoping they'd figure it out.

“Wait,” David sputtered. “You two? You're adopting her baby?”

“We are!” Killian exclaimed, unable to contain his pride and excitement any longer. “A little lass!”

Emma grinned at Killian's radiant joy and then smiled even wider when she saw the happiness on her father's face as he hugged her and then stepped over to embrace Killian. Finally, she turned towards her mom, just in time to catch her as she threw herself at Emma for a hug.

“Oh, Emma,” she cried, “that's amazing, so wonderful.” She pulled back and looked at Emma. Tears were already beginning to stream down Snow's face, but she paid them no mind as she began to pepper them with questions.

After being satisfied with the first batch of answers, Snow finally released Emma and flung her arms around her son-in-law.

“It's so exciting,” she breathed. “I'm just, so, so happy for all of you.”

Hope and Neal entered the room then. Henry hung back in the family room, presumably texting and avoiding another mushy scene. Neal sauntered over to David and leaned on his legs. Hope was intercepted by her grandmother, who scooped her up and squeezed her tight.

“Did you hear how we're buying a baby, Grandma?” Hope asked. Emma snorted, and Snow chuckled through her tears.

“ _Adopting_ , love,” Killian corrected.

Hope rolled her eyes and continued to hug her grandma. Finally she said, “Can we eat? I'm _starving_.”

David and Snow dished up everyone's plates while Emma and Killian got the kids' drinks and settled them in their booster seats around the Nolan's large kitchen table. Dinner was as lively (and messy) as it usually was with an almost-four and five year old, and Emma tried to mentally prepare herself for going back to the days of high chairs and baby food. Killian must have caught her pensive expression, because he reached over and squeezed her hand in comfort, always reminding her that they were in this together.

Later, David, Henry, and Killian played in the family room with the little ones while Emma and Snow stayed in the kitchen. Emma could tell that her mom wanted to talk more, and the guys had been gracious enough to distract the kids so that she and Snow could have a quiet moment.

Emma watched as Snow puttered around by the stove making steaming mugs of hot chocolate for both of them, going to the fridge to pull out the whipped cream she kept on hand especially for Emma. She wondered what was on her mother's mind, and she guiltily found herself bracing herself for an emotional conversation.

For Emma and Snow, the transition from being friends to being daughter and mother had been awkward. When they'd met, they were equals and fast friends, and Emma hadn't minded being the target for Mary Margaret's natural instinct to nurture. When they found out the truth, however, guilt and a need to make up for lost time had kicked Snow's mothering instincts into high gear. Snow's attempts to advise Emma, to worry over her, to _mother_ her had caused Emma to retreat.

Compounding the challenge between them was the ease with which Emma had adjusted to being David's daughter. The moment she learned that he was her father, the relationship had just   _clicked_. David was a source of comfort and wisdom, and he always shared these gifts with a relaxed sense of humor that was completely in tune with Emma's.

Then she had met Killian. Killian who could read her feelings and moods as surely as he could read the stars while charting a course on the sea. Killian who was her partner and best friend and her forever home.

The truth was, she just hadn't needed her mother that much, and Snow had found other subjects who needed her mothering skills more than Emma did.

Things got better when Hope was born. Emma felt herself soften to Snow's needs, and the truth was that she did welcome the help and advice from someone who had recently had a baby of her own. These days, their relationship was the best it had ever been, but it still took work.

Snow finished preparing the drinks and sat down at the table close to Emma.

“It's amazing the way life comes full circle sometimes, isn't it?” Snow mused, a hint of sadness in her voice.

Emma gently blew on her cocoa and nodded, knowing that her mother had more to say.

Snow took a breath before continuing. “Emma, I'm so sorry for the childhood that you had. I know that you grew up feeling unwanted, and I will never forgive myself for that. It's just...” she paused, fighting tears, and Emma's heart twisted for her. “It's so incredible that you get to help another little girl. You get to be her hero and give her a home. I'm so, so very proud of you.”

Emma reached out and squeezed her mother's hand. Her throat was thick with emotion, but she forced herself to keep her voice level. “Mom, the way I grew up was not your fault. Please, I wish you could find a way to stop blaming yourself for being forced to make an impossible choice.” She sighed. “And I know that I haven't always been the most forgiving and understanding of you, but I understand now. And I forgave you a long time ago.”

Snow smiled through her tears and nodded, unable to speak.

“And yeah,” Emma continued. “This adoption does kind of feel like an opportunity to make up for what happened to me. And for what I had to do with Henry.” Her voice cracked on the last part and she took another deep breath to steady herself. “I just feel so grateful, and proud, that I've been able to build the kind of family that Winifred would want her baby to be a part of. And I have you and Dad to thank for showing me what it really means to be a family.”

Two tears streamed down Emma's own face now as her mom leaned forward in her chair and embraced her. The two women hugged and cried for a few seconds before Snow spoke again.

“Emma, I wish I could take credit for the person you became. But you figured so much out on your own. You had to,” she said, leaning back to look at her daughter and stroke her cheek, wiping away the wetness there.

Emma stayed quiet. They both knew there was truth in Snow's words.

“We're just so proud of you, and we're overjoyed that you found someone who truly loves you and who fights for your love and your family as hard as David and I always fought for ours.”

Emma smiled, craning her neck and listening to Killian do a disturbingly accurate impression of evil Mayor Humdinger as Chase (Neal) and Marshall (Hope) giggled uncontrollably.

“And we'll be here for you guys, as always,” Snow continued. “If you need us to take Hope at all, or pick her up from school while you do doctor's appointments – are you doing the doctor's appointments?”

Emma nodded.

“Okay, great. And when she goes into labor, are you going to be in the delivery room?”

“Um, maybe,” Emma replied hesitantly, “We haven't really gotten that far yet.”

“You should do some research because I think I read that skin to skin contact with the adoptive mother can help the bonding experi-” she stopped, seeming to notice Emma's raised eyebrow and realize that she was talking a mile a minute.

“Sorry,” Snow continued with a wince. “I know this all just came up for you guys. I don't mean to bombard you with questions and advice.”

Emma tamped down the bit of annoyance she had felt. She smiled warmly and reached across the the table to take her mother's hand and squeeze it. “It's okay, Mom,” she said. “Those are really good ideas and questions. Killian and I have half a dozen lists of things we need to figure out and do. I'll add the skin to skin contact question.”

Snow smiled with relief, and Emma softened even more, happy that her mother was happy she could help.

They chatted for a while as they sipped their cocoa; not just about babies but about the town and the upcoming holidays. Emma had offered to host Thanksgiving this year (The Nolans and Regina had alternated having it for the past few years) and Snow offered to take the hosting duties back in light of Emma and Killian's news.

“Nope. He still wants to do it,” Emma replied with a smile. “He's intent on his turkey 'besting all previous game birds in both flavor and texture,'” she added in her best Killian accent.

Snow laughed. “Well, I'm still planning on bringing the yams. Let me know how else I can help. With anything.” She added the last part with a hopeful, almost shy look at Emma.

Emma was overcome with affection for her mother. This sweet woman who was just born to give, even if it meant sacrifice. She felt the the prick of tears in her eyes as she picked up Snow's hand and squeezed it again. 

“I will, Mom. Thanks.”

 

 

The next few weeks were a blur of activity for Emma and her family.

They immediately went to work on the nursery, getting rid of the old desk, rug, and bookshelves. They scrubbed it from top to bottom and gave it a coat of soft lavender paint. In town, they found a soft, oval rug with a pattern of flowers in tones of blue, pink, yellow, and light green. Killian and Henry spent a Saturday morning cleaning and reassembling Hope's white wooden crib. Piece by piece, the office started to transform into an adorable nursery.

By all accounts, Henry's Astronomy Club stargazing cruise with Captain Jones was a success. When they came home to Emma and Hope, Killian gushed about what quick studies the students were, and how he would make navigators out of all of them. Henry admitted that the evening had been pretty cool, if a bit freezing.

Later that night, under threat of tickles and other physical tortures, Killian admitted to Emma that Henry and Violet had held hands whenever they thought he wasn't looking (and whenever they weren't busy using their sextants to practice navigation.)

The day of Winifred's ultrasound brought with it a tangle of emotions for Emma and Killian. They were both nervous about how the girl would react to seeing her baby on the monitor. Even though Winifred had ultrasounds before, Emma knew that they were truly at the point in the pregnancy where the pictures of the baby really looked like a _baby._ She wondered whether that might make the upcoming birth and adoption more real and more painful for Winifred.

When they entered the room where the ultrasound would take place, Dr. Whale and Winifred were both ready to get started.

“Hey, it's the Swan-Joneses,” Whale greeted them in his typical smug tone. “Welcome to the ultrasound. Hope you guys continue to have better luck hanging onto babies than the rest of your family has.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

Killian scowled.

“Oh hush,” Winifred scolded the platinum haired doctor. “They're going to be great!” She smiled warmly and enthusiastically at Emma and Killian.

“Of course they are,” Whale replied smoothly as he made sure Winifred was covered from the waist down, then lifted her gown and squeezed gel onto her protruding bump. “I just love to tease the Charming-Nolan-Swan-Joneses whenever I get the chance. I mean, look at them. They're too good looking and all heroic and stuff. You have to bring people like that down a couple of pegs any chance you get,” He winked at Killian and then emptied the rest of the gel bottle onto Winifred with an audible “squirt” before grabbing the transducer.

Emma was next to Winifred's bed, but Killian had hung back by the doorway. Emma could tell that he felt awkward about being in the room for such an intimate procedure with a young woman he'd just met. But Winifred was not okay with his reticence.

“Killian, come on in,” she called to him. “It's okay. You should get a good spot close to the monitor so you can see your baby.”

Killian nodded shyly and gratefully and walked a few steps to stand next to Emma, up near the head of the bed and directly across from the monitor. Emma grabbed his hook as a comfort to both of them.

She was in awe of Winifred's bravery and her openness in welcoming them into this process.

Dr. Whale muttered to himself as he moved the transducer over Winifred's belly. He turned up the volume on the equipment so that they could hear the baby's heartbeat.

“Nice and strong,” he said confidently, back in serious doctor mode.

Whale continued to move the transducer until he was satisfied with the image, and he snapped a few pictures. He used one of the frozen images to take measurements of the baby: her head circumference, arms and legs, and total length. He explained what he was doing and assured them that her growth was right on track for 32 weeks.

Emma's heart had started racing as soon as she had heard the heartbeat, and she squeezed Killian tight as she watched Dr. Whale complete the ultrasound.

This was really real. There was an actual, tiny person in there that was going to be their daughter.

Emma looked down to meet the gaze of the girl who was giving them this amazing gift. Winifred was looking up at her hopefully, almost as if she was seeking approval, making sure that all this was still okay.

Lacking the words to tell her how truly incredible and awe inspiring this was, Emma reached out with her free hand and took one of Winfred's. Emma smiled through the tears that had formed in her eyes and nodded her head as if to say, “This is perfect.”

Killian and Emma offered to drive Winifred back to the convent. They all chatted easily on the ride, mostly about New York and Winifred's plans when she returned. As they said their goodbyes, Emma spontaneously invited the girl to join them at their house for Thanksgiving. Winifred seemed surprised, but then she happily agreed.

 

 

“Just open it up again and look. You know you want to,” Emma teased.

Killian turned from his crouched position in front of the oven to look back at her with a slight scowl but with mirth in his eyes.

“I've no need to open the oven, love,” he retorted. “I am perfectly confident that the bird is cooking to golden brown perfection.”

Emma laughed at his pompous (and fake) overconfidence. Killian would never admit it to anyone but her, but he was still, after all this time, working to gain her parents' approval. No matter how many times that Emma assured him that they loved him, and that all that mattered was that he made her happy, he still held a reserve of insecurity about his past. She could see it flash across his eyes any time one of the kids asked about David's parents, or any time it came up that Snow had been the rightful queen of her realm.

If there had been no curse, if Snow had become queen and raised Emma in a castle, Emma would have gone on to marry a prince or someone with a royal pedigree at least. Her stomach always clenched with anxiety at the thought. What a bullet she dodged. As painful as everything she went through was, she came out the other side with her perfect partner, her true love.

Her true love...who was still alternatively squinting through the oven glass at the bird and rising to look up at the clock on the stove top to see if it was time to baste again. Clearly, his current plan to ingratiate himself with her parents was to present the best damn Thanksgiving turkey they had ever seen.

And it wasn't just her parents he wanted to impress today. Winifred's presence at their holiday feast was an added bit of pressure. They were thrilled that she was joining them, but they both wanted to make sure that she had a good time and that she left feeling even more confident in them as her baby's parents.

Killian had channeled all his nervous energy into planning the menu and perfecting the main course. Earlier in the week, he had scoured YouTube in search of the best method of preparing the turkey and had settled on brining it the night before in a giant pot that took up most of the fridge.

“Killian, just let it be for a while. It will be great,” she advised. “I'm going to get the rest of these potatoes peeled. Why don't you enlist Hope to help set the table?”

“Aye, love,” he replied with a sudden glint in his eye. “Grand idea!”

She heard him cajole Hope away from the TV during a commercial break (she was watching the Macy's parade, anxiously awaiting the appearance of Santa.) Emma's back was to them as she peeled potatoes, and Killian was speaking softly to their daughter as they worked. Emma could tell that they were up to something.

Just as Emma finished placing the potatoes into the pot of boiling water, she heard little footsteps behind her. She turned to see Hope, quite festive in an orange jumper over a white long sleeve shirt and wooly, bright yellow tights, beaming at her from the doorway.

“Mommy!” she exclaimed. “We have a surprise for you on the table!” Hope's voice copied the singsong tone her parents took on whenever they surprised her with something.

Emma grinned as she turned to scoop up her daughter. “You do?” she cried. “Whatever could it be?”

With an impish grin, Hope turned and pointed at the dining room table by the front windows, which Emma could see was now fully set for a Thanksgiving meal. As a finishing touch, the cream colored cloth napkins had been folded into the shape of swans.

“Swans?” Emma cried, carrying Hope over to the table, by which Killian stood proudly. “Is that for me?”

“Yep!” Hope replied.

Emma snuggled her close and kissed her cheek, ear, and neck. Hope cuddled her back, until they heard Al Roker announce that Santa's sleigh was riding into Herald Square, at which point Hope jumped out of Emma's arms and onto the floor. She scampered across the room to the TV to get a look at Santa.

Emma rolled her eyes and then turned to Killian. “Very elegant, thank you,” she said, gesturing to the table.

“Ah, yes, well that YouTube is quite something,” he replied, scratching behind his ear.

“ _You're_ quite something,” she told him, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek and smiling at his blush.

Snow, David, Neal, and Winifred arrived in a flurry of hugs and casserole dishes a short time later. Winifred and Snow had clearly hit it off and were chatting and sharing inside jokes like old friends. Hope greeted her uncle and grandparents politely, but her attention was devoted to Winifred as the young woman took of her coat and exposed her ample belly.

Emma watched as Winifred noticed Hope's gaze. Winifred smiled warmly and reached down to shake hands.

“It is so nice to meet you in person, Hope,” she said. “A real honor. And you're going to be a big sister!”

Hope smiled and reached up to shake hands back. “Is that the baby?” she asked, pointing to Winifred's bump.

“Yep!” Winifred replied proudly. “She's in there baking,” she added with a sly grin.

“Baking!?” Hope cried. “Like the turkey!” She started to giggle uncontrollably at her own joke, and Winifred laughed back.

With that, Winifred and Hope became easy friends. While she and Killian got their guests settled, Emma watched out of the corner of her eye as her daughter led the young woman around the living room, pointing out her favorite books and toys.

“Mom,” Hope piped up when Emma returned from the kitchen. “Can Neal and I show Winifred my room?”

Emma hesitated. She loved that Hope was being so warm and welcoming, but a trip to Hope's room would mean passing by the work-in-process nursery. Suddenly, Emma wondered whether inviting Winifred here was a mistake. Would it be too painful for her to see the home where her child would grow up? Would being here with two adorable kids and seeing a the perfectly cute little girl décor of Hope's bedroom make her have second thoughts about whether she was ready to be a mom?

Emma looked at Winifred and saw the hesitation on her face. Emma resolved that they should take it slow.

“Maybe after we eat, sweetie,” Emma said to Hope. She caught the flash of relief that crossed Winifred's face.

“Hey kids, do you know what time it is?” David piped up cheerfully, breaking the tension as only he could.

Everyone turned to him expectantly.

“Turkey Bowl time!” he replied with a grin.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Killian muttered.

“Come on, _son_ ,” David replied. “It's Pirates versus Princes, round three. It's a tradition!”

After Killian kissed his wife and made her promise to look after his bird, he and David took Hope and Neal out to the side yard and marked off a makeshift gridiron with odds and ends from the yard and shed. They used an old, junior-sized football of Henry's that languished in the shed for the other 364 days each year. Killian always complained that he still couldn't make sense of American football (although he had taken to the European version rather well) but David insisted every year that they follow a non-magical world Thanksgiving tradition and play.

Emma watched from the kitchen windows after she checked on dinner. She could hear Snow and Winifred chatting away out in the living room.

Emma laughed out loud as she watched Killian and Hope, on offense, run a play against David and Neal. Upon calling “hike” Killian immediately picked up the ball and handed it to his tiny daughter. Then, he picked _her_ up and began to run towards the end zone, bobbing and weaving in a crazy pattern as Hope laughed hysterically. David and Neal tried but couldn't catch them. The look on father and daughter's faces as they hugged and celebrated in the end zone did all kinds of wonderful things to Emma's heart.

She was so distracted by the scene that she didn't realize that Winifred had come up beside her and was watching out the window as well.

“Oh, hey,” Emma said, turning to the girl. “Are you doing all right? What can I get you?”

“Oh, I'm totally fine!” Winifred replied. She glanced out the window again and smiled. Emma's heart twisted as she saw the sadness in it.

She reached down and took Winifred's hand.

“It's okay,” Emma told the girl. “Nobody said this was easy. Trust me. It hurts. But if you feel in your heart that it's the right thing, it does get lot better.”

“I know, I just...” Winifred turned toward Emma but kept her eyes downcast. “I thought this, seeing your family, would make it better. And I think that, eventually, it will. But I've never really had a family outside the convent, and being here today is just making me feel like I really missed something.” She dabbed at her eyes.

“I'm really sorry,” she added hastily, finally looking up and seeing the concern on Emma's face. “I'm not having second thoughts or anything. I know I'm not ready to have a kid. I have too much I want to do. This is just really, really nice.”

A lump had formed in Emma's throat. She related to this girl so much. Unlike Winifred, she hadn't had big dreams when she was a teenager; she was just trying to survive. But, she totally understood never having had a real family and the powerful need to feel like she belonged. She squeezed the girl's hand again.

“It's okay, there's no need to be sorry. I get it,” Emma said firmly. “We just want you to be comfortable with your choice, and we're here to help however we can.”

“I know,” Winifred said. Suddenly, her stomach growled loudly. Both women burst out laughing.

“Sounds like I can help by feeding you both!” Emma laughed.

“Yes, I'm totally blaming that on the baby,” Winifred replied with a grin.

Just then, Emma heard the sounds of Regina, Zelena, Henry and little Robin's arrival. She brought Winifred out to the foyer and made introductions as Henry dealt with everyone's coats and Snow brought the pies Regina had made back to the kitchen.

Emma had warned Winifred that Regina and her sister could be prickly, but the two women were on their best behavior. They sat and chatted warmly with Winifred and Snow while Henry and Robin went to join the football game outside.

Emma had just taken the turkey out and replaced it with the yams and a broccoli casserole, both of which needed warming, when Killian burst through the back door with Hope perched on his right shoulder. She held onto her dad's neck with one arm but pumped her other fist in the air victoriously.

“I take it the Pirates won?” Emma noted.

“Aye, of course!” Killian replied. “We have the fastest, wiliest runner in all of sport!” He set Hope down on the floor, and the two of them high fived. The others filed in after them. David looked disgruntled as he helped the kids remove their boots.

“Everyone, go wash up,” Emma said. “We're about ready to eat!”

As David and Henry took the other kids to the downstairs bathroom, Killian quickly washed his hand and rubber-stoppered hook in the kitchen sink and then hurried to look at the turkey, golden and resplendent in its roasting pan.

"Ah, it's done?” he asked Emma. “I was so caught up in our match that I would have let it burn!”

“It's called a football _game_ , not match, babe,” Emma teased. “But yes, I saved your precious bird from drying out. I think it looks great!”

Killian sighed with relief, but Emma was amused to find that he looked a little disappointed in himself.

“Killian, you did all the hard stuff. The overnight brining and the dressing and tying and basting. I'll make sure my parents know how hard you worked,” she said with a bit of a teasing tone.

He smiled at her, but he looked a little abashed. “No, love,” he said. “It was a team effort. Like always.” He leaned down and sweetly kissed her forehead.

Suddenly, she felt the tears welling again. Everything that she had felt while talking with Winifred came back to her. Sometimes, for Emma, the contrast between the despair of her younger years and the warm fulfillment of her current life was just too much for her. It overwhelmed her emotions.

Killian pulled back and looked at her with worry. Then he glanced into the living room at Winifred, who was perched on the couch with her feet up on a footstool. She looked relaxed and was now chatting with Henry.

“Everything okay with her, then?” Killian asked, looking back at Emma.

“I think so. I's just a lot,” she replied thickly.

Killian reached up and gently wiped at her tears with his thumb. Emma took a deep breath and felt her emotions begin to calm down.

She sighed and surveyed the kitchen, the countertops of which were covered in dishes that needed to be served. “I'll fill you in on Winifred later. Right now, we have to feed this crew or else we'll have a mutiny on our hands, Captain.”

Emma and Killian's dining table sat six adults comfortably; eight if they really squeezed. So Killian and Henry had set up a little card table with four chairs around it for Neal, Hope, and Robin. Emma and Killian had planned to take turns sitting with the little ones to help them cut their food an clean up messes. Henry, though, being the gentleman that he was, wouldn't hear of it and offered to sit with the kids so that the grown ups could relax and enjoy the feast.

Dinner was raucous but fun. The food was delicious. Snow, David, and Winifred gushed over the turkey, and even Regina grudgingly admitted that it was one of the best ever.

Everyone chatted warmly and took care to include Winifred in the conversation, making sure they filled in the necessary family history or backstory if it was needed to understand whatever anecdote was being shared. Quite often, one of the little ones would hop up from the kids' table in order to swipe another roll, or, in Neal's case, try to scoop some marshmallows off the yams.

At some point, the conversation turned to magic, with Zelena proudly noting that Robin had learned to control the lights in their house with just her magic.

Hope must have overheard, because she suddenly piped up, “I can do that!”

Suddenly, the whole house went dark. Thankfully, it was only mid-afternoon, so despite the overcast November skies, there was still a dim glow coming in through the windows.

“That's wonderful, darling,” Killian praised. “But would you mind turning them back on so that we can see our plates?”

In the low light, Emma could see Hope scrunch up her face. “Ummmm....I don't think I can....” she conceded.

“Okay, no problem, sweetie,” Emma said. She and Killian then apologized to their guests and jumped up to turn the lights back on.

“Well, that's still a work in process then,” Regina noted smugly as they sat back down. She'd always been critical of Emma's lack of discipline when it came to magical training. The truth was, Emma just didn't see the need to use hers on a day to day basis. When bad stuff came up, she used her magic. But most days, she didn't even think about it.

“She's not even four yet, Regina,” Emma said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Still, she has quite a bit of power,” Zelena interjected. “You'll want to make sure she can really control it. Especially now.”

Emma stiffened, thinking of the incident at Hope's preschool and little Aidan's injury. She glanced at Winifred. The girl looked nonplussed. The talk of magic clearly didn't bother her. She was a fairy after all. She'd been around magic all her life. Still, Emma wanted to make sure she knew that her baby would be safe.

“I'm training her,” Emma said firmly. She glanced at Hope, who was watching and listening from the kids' table. Emma gave her daughter a bright smile. “She does an amazing job keeping her magic under control for someone so young.”

“Aye, that she does,” Killian added. “We're rather proud of her.” He grinned cheekily at Hope, and she grinned back.

With that, the tension was diffused and the subject changed. The rest of the afternoon was relaxed, as the now sleepy crew took a break from eating to play a silly game of charades before dessert.

Before dusk fell, everyone moved to take their leave. Emma and Killian worked in the kitchen to pack up leftover containers for Regina, Zelena, David and Snow. There would still be plenty of food for the Swan-Joneses if they fancied turkey and all it's accoutrements at any time over the next few days. Emma was already dreaming about sneaking downstairs with Killian for a late night turkey sandwich.

David and Snow were taking Winifred back to the convent. Before she left, she knelt down and offered her hand to Hope.

“It was really nice to meet you, Hope,” Winifred said. “I'm so glad the baby is going to have you for a big sister.”

Hope beamed, and after a nod from Emma, she wrapped her arms around Winifred's neck in a warm hug.

Emma and Killian each hugged the young woman goodbye. As she pulled back, Winifred squeezed Emma's arms and said simply, “Thank you.”

The simple words and her firm, resolved expression were enough to tell Emma that she was still all in. That she believed this choice was still her baby's best chance.

Emma nodded and smiled, trying to pack in all the affection and gratitude she felt in return. The girl squeezed Emma's arms once more, quietly telling her that she understood.

After all of their guests had left, Emma, Killian, Henry, and Hope settled in for a relatively quiet evening of cleanup and leftovers.

 

 

By Sunday afternoon the house and kitchen had returned to its (okay, slightly messy) order. Henry had gone back to Regina's to spend Sunday dinner and the early part of the following week there. Killian was out in the shed searching for another box of Christmas lights and decorations that Emma had sworn they put there last year.

Emma and Hope were at the kitchen table. Hope's face was scrunched up in concentration, and she was staring at a pink plastic cup with about an inch of water in it.

“Just relax, sweetie,” Emma said quietly. “Do the best you can. If it doesn't work, no big deal!”

Hope huffed in frustration. “I'm trying, Mom. I wanna make it swirl like the sand, but it won't do it. I think it's too heavy.”

“Okay. That's all right, Hope,” Emma consoled her. “Take a break. Do you want to get out some paints or something?”

“Okay!” Hope replied brightly.

The little girl relaxed visibly as she directed Emma on what paint set and paper she wanted. Emma set it all up at the kitchen table and helped her daughter roll up the sleeves of her turtleneck. Hope immediately went to work on a green blob that she declared was the Christmas tree they were going to cut down this week.

Emma smiled as she watched her and tried not to worry that their magic lesson hadn't been a success. She'd thought that asking Hope to do something similar to what she had inadvertently done in preschool would work. However, she knew why it hadn't. Making water swirl around in a cup could be mildly cool, but the emotion it would engender was nothing compared to Hope's need for justice when Aidan had stolen all the cars in the sand table at school.

The truth was, Hope was just like Emma. She could use her magic when her feelings were stirred up, like the incident at school, or when she felt she needed to prove herself at Thanksgiving by turning off the lights. When there were no stakes though, she just couldn't conjure it.

Emma thought back to her own training and winced when she remembered being subjected to Regina's methods. The former queen had inspired Emma's magic by yelling at her or causing her to fear for her life by making bridges give way beneath her feet. There was no way that Emma was going to use such practices on a child.

She considered going to Zelena for help, but the two had never been close, and she just wasn't ready to resort to that yet.

Her musings were interrupted when the front door flung open and Killian half stumbled in, a dirty rag held to his forehead.

“Daddy!” Hope cried.

“Oh, Killian,” Emma said, immediately running to him.

“I'm fine, ladies. Just a bit of a mishap with a ladder and the edge of the workbench,” he assured them. “I just need Mommy's magic hands, and I'll be right as rain.”

Emma frowned and reached up to gently cover his hand, which was still holding the towel on his forehead, with her own. She gave him a little nod to say “okay?” and he nodded back. She gently pulled on his hand and winced at the blood that immediately started to pool in the gash on the left side of his forehead.

“It's okay,” Emma breathed, although it looked pretty nasty. “I can work with that. Just sit down and let me clean it before I heal it, just to be safe.”

She led him to kitchen table and sat him down across from Hope who was staring at him with a deep frown.

“I'm fine, lass,” he assured his little girl. “Nothing Mommy can't fix in a heartbeat.”

“How did you hurt it?” Hope asked worriedly. She got out of her chair and came around the table so that she could climb up in the chair next to him. She rested there on her knees and craned her neck to look at his wound.

“Yeah, what the heck happened?” Emma echoed as she walked back in the room. She had run to the bathroom to grab a clean, soft washcloth and antibiotic ointment. Now, she gestured for Killian to turn his chair so that he faced her, and she gently wiped away some blood with the washcloth in preparation for cleaning and disinfecting the wound itself. She'd be able to heal it, but she was fuzzy on the antibiotic properties of magic. The shed and the rag Killian had used to staunch the bleeding were both pretty dirty, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

 “When I was looking for the decorations, I noticed that there was a small hole in the roof of the shed,” he explained. “I didn't want rain or snow to leak in and damage anything, and I thought could board it up from the inside. I simply got the nail started in the board before I climbed the ladder so that the nail would stay in one spot. Unfortunately, in maneuvering to hold the board in place with my wrist and trying to hammer accurately, I lost my balance on the ladder and fell. Right onto the corner of the workbench.”

“Ouch,” Hope observed.

“Yes, ouch!” he chuckled. His eyes were downcast, looking only at Hope, and his smile held a touch of embarrassment.

Emma's heart ached for him. Her husband was so good at so many things that she often forgot about his physical disadvantage. It almost never limited him. However, his capability also made him overconfident, and this time it had gotten him hurt. It had been on the tip of her tongue to admonish him for trying to work on the roof himself rather than getting her or waiting until Henry was home.

Instead, she adopted a breezy tone and said, “You'll just have to try again tomorrow, babe. If you want, Hope and I can hold the ladder for you.”

He finally looked up to meet her eyes, and he smiled softly.

“Yep! I can help!” Hope piped in.

Emma smiled at her and finished applying the ointment to Killian's wound. “Okay, just give me a sec to get this gunk of my fingers and I'll heal it right up,” she said. She turned to walk towards the sink.

It was only a second or two later that she saw a white glow out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see that Hope had climbed into Killian's lap and pressed her hand gently against his injury. Incredibly, her tiny hand emitted the familiar glow of magic, pure and white, just like Emma's.

Killian was staring at his daughter with unbridled awe and affection. He had wrapped his arms around her little waist and submitted himself to her work with complete trust.

When she pulled her hand away, his forehead was unblemished.

“All done!” Hope said proudly.

Killian grinned and reached up to touch his forehead. “Well done, love!” he cried proudly. “It doesn't even hurt!”

Emma came closer to them. She placed a proud hand on Hope's shoulder and reached out with her other hand to gently graze Killian's perfect forehead.

“Well, what do you know?” Emma said finally, allowing herself to break into a grin. She leaned down and pressed a kiss onto Hope's head. “Nice work, Kiddo!”

“Thank, Mom!” Hope replied proudly.

Killian cleared his throat. “You know, I'm the one that was injured.” He raised his eyes sweetly and craned his neck so that his head was in kissing range.

Emma laughed and leaned down to kiss the middle of his forehead. He gave her his cheekiest grin and then, with Hope still on his lap, he turned his chair back to the table. He made a show of inspecting his daughter's artwork.

“What were you painting, love?” he asked Hope. “Wait. Is this our Christmas tree?”

“It is, Daddy!” Hope replied proudly.

Emma sighed as she watched them. She tried to resign herself that she had already known the answer on how to spur Hope's magic. There was just no easy way to control the emotions of a preschooler. However, she was proud and grateful that her daughter seemed to be most inspired by the need to do what was right for the people she loved.

They could work with that.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!! The final part will cover the Christmas season and the baby's birth. xo


	15. Epilogue - Pt.4   "Christmas"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma and Killian celebrate the holidays, and their new baby finally arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fully intended to publish this before Christmas, since it is SET at Christmas, but the holiday season and the length of this work got away from me. This is REALLY long, so either 'I'm sorry' or 'you're welcome' depending on whether or not you enjoy details and fluff. Also, I sincerely apologize if I got any of the medical stuff wrong. Thanks for reading!!

After the original Dark Curse was broken, the people of Storybrooke continued to celebrate common American holidays.

The townspeople had a knack for selecting and keeping the aspects of their split lives that they liked best. _Of course_ they held onto modern technology, indoor plumbing, onion rings... Most residents couldn't imagine life without them, even if they lived that way for decades back in the Enchanted Forest.

The same was true for holidays. For people who had been peasants and farmers, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, and Valentine's Day put to shame most of the old, dull Enchanted Forest holidays (like Harvest Day, on which farmers and their families and workers ate a big fall meal, but only after spending the day performing the exhausting and backbreaking work of picking crops by hand.)

During December, all the residents and shop owners of Storybrooke decorated the buildings and trees with twinkling fairy lights. A giant Christmas tree was erected in the town square, and on the first weekend of the month, the whole town came out to drink hot chocolate, sing songs, and watch the ceremonial tree lighting.

Emma, Henry, Hope, and all the other young children in town, having only lived in the non-magical world, appreciated the continued celebration of Christmas. If, for some reason, Storybrooke had abandoned the holiday, Emma knew that she would have continued to celebrate it in her own home. Not just for Henry and Hope, but for herself.

Christmas in the foster system SUCKED. Some of the homes had tried, buying small gifts or signing up for programs that distributed donated presents to needy children. But they all acted like it was just another duty they had to endure for their charges. There was no magic. No love.

Now that Emma had a real family and a home of her own that was brimming with both magic and love, she  _adored_ Christmas.

This year, Emma and Killian were working especially hard to give Hope and Henry a special holiday. The arrival of the new baby in January would be a joyful event, but the child would also take up a lot of her parents' time and attention. Emma and Killian wanted to make sure they took time to give their children a little extra focus before the craziness hit.

The family worked together to decorate the house. They strung lights around the front porch (Killian relented and let Emma climb the ladder this time, promising he would hold it steady as she hung the lights on the nails that were still there from previous years.) They decorated the inside with snow globes and Santa figurines. They plastered the fridge and the walls with Hope's holiday-themed artwork.

And of course, they picked out the perfect tree and placed it in the corner of the living room nearest the dining table, where it could be viewed from the kitchen. They strung bright, colorful lights around it and decorated it with shiny balls and other ornaments they had collected or made. Killian had found some old trinkets and costume jewelry on The Jolly, and he and Hope spent an afternoon attaching hooks to them so that they became nautical-themed ornaments.

They also made sure to include Hope and Henry in many of the preparations for the baby's arrival.

Henry had suggested a name that he absolutely loved, and he never missed an opportunity to lobby for it.

They finished decorating the nursery with substantial input from Hope. She picked out an adorable poster based on one of her favorite books, about jaunty cartoon animals who lived on a ship, and supervised as her mom and dad hung it on the wall opposite the crib.

Killian and Emma suggested that she might pick out a gift for her new baby sister, and she took the idea very seriously, listing suggestions and agonizing over the choice for days but failing to come to a decision.

By the second weekend in December, Killian and Emma were feeling confident in their and their home's readiness to welcome their new daughter.

In the interest of spending some extra time focused on the kids, they talked about bringing Hope and Henry to New York to Christmas shop. But as busy as they were, and with Emma's strong desire to stay close to home in case Winifred delivered early, they decided to go back to Boston (a four-hour-shorter drive) for a quick overnight instead.

Henry had mid-terms coming up and felt he had spent enough time in Boston lately, so he decided to stay behind in Storybrooke with Regina. Emma and Killian still insisted that he have his own special outing, so they had taken him on a horseback riding excursion the week before, on a day that was unseasonably mild.

Thus, on the second Saturday in December, Killian, Emma, and Hope set out in the yellow bug early in the morning as a very light snow began to fall.

The purpose of their trip was both pleasure and business. Killian knew that Emma had grown to relish the Christmas season, and she loved to sightsee in the city when trees and store windows were decorated to the hilt. They also planned to shop, and Hope was determined to finally pick out something for her baby sister.

The business part of it was about Winifred.

As they got to know the young woman and her situation a little better, Killian and Emma learned that the girl had forfeited some non-refundable tuition money for acting classes when she decided to return to Storybrooke. Blue and the other fairies had helped as much as they could, but Winifred had very little savings left for her return to New York.

During his time in the non-magical world, Killian had learned that neither conjuring up money by magic nor trading treasure from magical realms for "real" money was as simple as each sounded.

Unfortunately, in the non-magical world, money conjured by magic could be detected as counterfeit by some commonly used tools.

Trading gold and jewels for money wasn't without risk either.  Apparently the molecules and whatnot that comprised the Enchanted Forest metals were _just_ different enough to be detectable with certain equipment.  He and Emma had found this out the hard way a few years ago during tense trip to a fine jeweler in Boston where they attempted to trade some treasure for cash to start a fund for the cost of Henry's university.

Emma and Killian had waited in antique chairs in front of the jeweler's ornate wooden desk while the man went in the back to inspect some of the "antique coins" and pieces of jewelery that they had brought to sell. The jeweler was discerning and reputable, and it turned out that he had a sophisticated X-Ray machine for testing the quality of the gold.

After the man had been gone for nearly twenty minutes, Emma had begun to get nervous, checking her phone relentlessly and twitching anxiously beside Killian. When he finally returned, the jeweler's face had been impassive, but Killian detected a queer glint in his eye as he inspected himself and Emma more closely, his eye lingering an extra few seconds on Killian's gloved prosthetic hand.

Killian's heart had sunk as the man had guardedly explained that they might be more comfortable at a less reputable establishment, and that it wouldn't be unreasonable for him to be calling the authorities on grifters trying to pass off a strange metal as gold, even if it was an excellent facsimile.

Emma had tapped into the deception skills she had built during her bail bonds person days and assured the jeweler that they were authentic antiques from her grandparents' estate. She even acted offended that he would assume that their motives were untoward before she grabbed Killian's arm and left in an false huff.

From then on, they had been more cautious about trading in gold and jewels from magical realms. They did it only once a year, and only with jewelers that did not use sophisticated testing equipment. Unfortunately, this meant doing business in places that were only a step or two above pawn shops, where they received a lot less value in return.

For Winifred, Killian and Emma had decided that it was worth trading in more gold so that she could have the means to start her education and career fresh after the baby was born.

She had not asked them for anything, and they didn't want to insult her, but she was giving them such an incredible gift. They wanted to give her a gift in return, to help her find her future.

Killian had reluctantly agreed that, despite his years in Storybrooke and months in Boston, Emma was still better suited to deal with the not-so-reputable gold buyers they had found in the city. Therefore, after they checked into their room at a hotel in the Theater District, Emma pulled her grey beanie over her hair and buttoned her red wool coat, ready to do business.

"Are you sure you don't want us to go with you? Wait somewhere nearby? If I recall, Dunkin Donuts restaurants are quite common here. We could find one of those," Killian suggested.

"Yes!" Hope cried, no doubt dreaming of her favorite, chocolate glazed.

Emma shook her head sternly.

"No, you guys have fun at The Pru. This will be quick, I promise. I'll come meet you as soon as I'm done."

She knelt down by the door to their room and pulled Hope into a tight hug.

"See you soon, Little Bean," she whispered to her daughter.

"Okay, Mommy," Hope whispered back, planting a soft kiss on her cheek.

Killian bit back any further pleas to join her, knowing that they'd see her in a few short hours. He returned the light kiss on the lips she gave him after she rose to standing on her tiptoes, and they said goodbye.

Killian took Hope to an early lunch and then for a short ride on the T to the Prudential Center mall. He gazed down at his little girl as they walked through the doors of the upscale shopping center, excited to see her reaction to the place.

The glass-roofed plaza was resplendent with Christmas trees, giant wreaths, and golden stars that hung from the ceiling. Several yards into the mall, a display of white wire reindeer in a snow covered grove moved with slow, animatronic grace.

Hope took it all in with wide eyes and an open mouth. Killian took care to navigate them around other shoppers, as his daughter took no notice of obstacles around her. She only wanted to gaze at the Christmas decorations.

“There will be lots more to see, love,” Killian told her gently. “Should we head to the toy store first?”

“Okay, Daddy!” Hope replied. She quickened her pace and tightened her grip on his hand as he led them on.

Killian had only been to this mall once before, and it was during the time when he was cursed in Boston, but before his cursed self had "met" Emma and the kids. At that time, he certainly wasn't in the market for toys. Prior to this trip with Hope, he had to use the Internet to confirm that there _was_ a toy store and find its precise location.

To his delight, he'd learned that there was indeed a toy store, and that it was called “Magic Beans.”

Hope had been as excited as he was when he'd told her the name of the shop. She knew enough of his and Emma's story to know just how significant those tiny, magical objects had been to her parents.

Now that he had reminded Hope of their destination, she was practically skipping along the marble mall floor in her pink, shearling-lined boots.

As they walked past the gleaming stores filled with Christmas displays, Killian's mind wandered to a less glamorous part of town.

He wasn't worried about Emma; she could always handle herself. He just hated to think of her all alone, slipping into a persona from a darker time in her life so that she could deal with less-than-savory characters all morning. He just wanted her to come back to him and Hope to spend the rest of the day being warm and safe and surrounded by beauty.

“There it is!” Hope cried, breaking through his thoughts.

She pulled him towards a glass storefront that had a white sign with green lettering that said “Magic Beans.” Layered on top of the wall beside the store and “growing” up to tangle across part of the sign, was a bright green beanstalk.

“It's a beanstalk, Dad! Just like the one you and Mommy climbed!”

“Ah, well spotted, lass! Although, the beanstalk Mommy and I faced was much, much taller,” Killian said with a smile. “Now, what's our mission?”

“One present for Neal, one for Robin, one for me as reward for being a good girl today, and one for my baby sister from me,” the little girl replied easily.

“Excellent, darling!” he replied. He marveled at how bright she was and at how articulate she had become. She also displayed shockingly keen observation and memory skills when she was focused on something.

He knew he was biased, but part of him genuinely believed that she might be the most extraordinary child ever born.

She led him inside the store, and they wandered the aisles in search of the perfect gifts. To her credit, Hope spent as much time picking out presents for Robin and Neal as she did eyeing the displays in search of her own reward.

When they had decided on the gifts for Hope's uncle and friend, and Hope had selected a musical Peppa Pig bus she'd been eyeing for a while, they turned their focus to choosing Hope's gift for the baby.

“Hmm...so what do babies like?” Hope asked as her eyes wandered over a shelf of Thomas and Friends trains.

“Well, love, babies tend to like things that are very soft,” he replied, picturing Hope when she was around four months old, laying on a blanket on the floor of their living room. She had a plush yellow duck that he used to place on her belly so that she could try to grab it. When she was successful, she'd put it right in her mouth and slobber all over it. Years of washings had reduced the plushiness, but Hope still had the toy on her bed.

“Oh, and they love things that make music, or any kind of noise,” Killian continued, remembering back to lazy mornings playing with Hope and marveling as her bright blue eyes lit up with every new discovery.

“And I seem to recall you enjoying mirrors quite a bit. You take after me with that!” he added cheekily.

They had reached a selection of bath toys, and Hope was eyeing a mesh bag that held a set of brightly colored rubber ducks, octopi, seahorses, and boats.

“Will the baby take baths?” she asked her dad.

“Of course, love. Bath toys would be an excellent choice. We need to train your sister to love the water so that she can become a sailor like you!”

Hope grinned at him. “Aye, aye, Captain Matey!” she replied happily.

Killian pulled the bath toy set off of its hook and held it down for Hope to inspect.

“There's no kraken toy. That would be too scary for babies,” she noted sagely.

“Aye, love. That it would.”

Killian paid for their purchases, and they left the store. They planned to shop for a gift for Emma next, but Hope required a quick snack break. They sat on a bench, and Killian gave her a container of goldfish shaped cheese crackers. He then pulled out his phone to check for any word from his wife.

When there was no message from Emma, he did start to worry, a little. It wasn't just that he was nervous about the jewelry dealers trying to swindle or accost her; she had a taser and could deal with that.

He _was_ worried about one of the more reputable ones feeling that she was trying to grift them and deciding to call the police on her. His heart clenched every time he imagined her being confronted, or worse, arrested, by a cop.

“Daddy, are you listening to me?” Hope asked him.

“What? Sorry, love,” he replied.

Busted. He looked down to see the annoyed expression on her adorable face. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and the dimple in her chin stood out.

She was a tiny, blue-eyed, version of her mother.

“My mind was wandering. I apologize,” he continued. “A lass as interesting and lovely as you deserves my full and prompt attention.”

He listened intently as she continued talking. The subject was the toys they had picked out for Robin and Neal. Hope wanted his opinion on how soon the two of them would let her have a turn playing with the gifts. He assured her that they would be keen to share, but that she'd have to wait for them to play first and be prepared to share her own gifts. That seemed to satisfy her.

Shortly after, he took her snack container back and placed it in the satchel he kept slung over his shoulder. He slipped their shopping bag over the prosthetic hand and into the crook of his left elbow, took Hope's hand, and off they went in search of something for Emma.

The woman herself texted a short time later to let him know that her first sale had gone well, and she was hoping to only visit two more jewelers before she could join them.

Killian relaxed, and for the rest of the day, he made special effort to listen to every word Hope said, and to savor this time with her. It hit him again that it wouldn't be long before she'd have to share his time with another tiny lass.

Part of him grieved.

For as much as they all would adore the new addition to their family, these moments with just him and Hope would be harder to come by. He promised himself that he would make time for them, just the two of them, as often as he could. He would never let his magical little bean forget how special she was.

After all, it was this little girl who, in this very city, fought the forces of dark magic, recognized him as her father, and reunited their family. She was his tiny, magical miracle.

 

Later that evening, Killian lounged on the king sized bed in their hotel room. Hope was asleep, nestled into his side. Because they were only staying for one night, he and Emma hadn't bothered with two beds or a roll-away, being content to let Hope sleep with them lest she wake up disoriented in the strange place. He gently stroked her soft blonde tangles as he half watched an ice hockey game at low volume.

The day had been a success. He and Hope had found presents for Emma, and she had met them for an early dinner. She had quietly told him that she was happy with the value she'd received for the gold she'd traded. They would have a meaningful gift for Winifred to help the girl with rent and classes back in New York.

Now, Emma was in a chair by the window, her electric breast pump set on the table beside her as she continued to try to prepare her body to feed the baby.

After researching how adoptive moms could breastfeed, Emma had gone back on birth control for a month to stimulate the hormones that were present in pregnancy. In mid-December, she stopped the pills and began taking herbal medication to stimulate milk production. She combined this with regular pumping from a high grade pump she'd gotten from the hospital.

Early on in the process, Killian had cheekily offered to assist with, ahem, manual stimulation, but that method had proven to be rather distracting.

Now, the soft hum of the pump was a soundtrack to his thoughts, but the rhythm was broken when he heard Emma sigh in frustration.

“What's wrong, love?” he asked, turning to look at her. Now, he was used to the sight of the plastic suction cups and tubing attached to her body. Just after Hope was born, it had quite unnerved him the first time she'd used the pump on what he well knew to be very sensitive parts of her. “No milk tonight?”

“Not much,” she replied with a sigh. “I feel like I would need to be doing this twenty-four-seven in order to get anything substantial. Plus, I'm bored! Can you tell me a story or what you're thinking about and keep me entertained while I do this?”

“Aye, love. Apologies. My thoughts went a bit adrift.”

“What about?”

He glanced down at the child sleeping against him.

“I know we're ready to do this," he said after a moment. "It's just that, a new baby requires so much attention, and I want to make sure that I don't lose focus on Hope. I know that's partly why we came on this trip, but I'm still worried about afterwards. That she might feel left behind or less important after the baby arrives.”

“Oh Killian, it's perfectly normal to feel that way,” Emma replied kindly. “It just means you're being a good parent.”

He swallowed thickly. Even after their years together, her validation still touched him.

“Tell you what,” she continued. “Why don't you and Hope schedule a date, at least once a week? Maybe you can pick her up and take her to Granny's, or take her out sailing on the weekend. Just the two of you. I think she'd love that, and it would give me quiet time for feedings or naps or whatever. We'll make sure we stick to it, even if things get crazy.”

“That's a grand idea, Swan,” he replied. His heart felt a little easier.

“I think we did a pretty good job with Henry,” Emma went on. “He's been amazing about Hope and this baby, too. I mean, I was already an adult, and even  _I_ was a little hurt when my parents wanted to have another kid. Although, I'd pretty much just met them. I guess that was the weirdest possible situation.”

She rolled her eyes, and Killian chuckled in response, remembering the extreme awkwardness (on many emotional fronts) of Echo Cave back in Neverland.

He heard her sigh as she turned off the pump. He politely looked away and down at Hope as Emma moved to pull the suction cup away from her body. He glanced back up as she was straightening her shirt.

"How'd you do?" he asked.

She sighed and held up the small bottle with barely more than a film of clearish milk at the bottom.

"The expression, 'blood from a stone' comes to mind," she answered bitterly.

"Well, I saw a sorcerer squeeze blood from a stone once in Agrabah. It really wasn't that impressive. Sort of revolting, actually," he replied with a sly smile.

She rolled her eyes at him as she screwed the cap on the tiny bottle of milk and then placed it in the room's mini refrigerator.

"It will come," he added softly, truly anxious to ease her worries. "We knew we would have to feed her formula, mostly. Whatever else you can add is wonderful."

Emma nodded, then turned off one of the lights and climbed into bed with them. She gently moved Hope forward slightly so that she could press her shoulder against Killian's, then pulled the little girl back so that she was resting against both of them. Hope's mouth was slightly open as she slumbered, and her hair fell in soft, curly tangles around her little heart-shaped face. She was adorable.

Killian couldn't help but smile at Emma as she gazed adoringly down at their sleeping daughter, her stress about the milk seemingly forgotten.

"She was so sweet and generous shopping for presents today," Killian said. "She's going to be a wonderful big sister."

"The best," Emma agreed.

 

On the third Friday in December, Emma found herself seated at a round table at Tony's Italian restaurant in Storybrooke. On her right was Hope Swan-Jones, looking lovely in a very Christmas-sy red velvet dress with a satin sash. On her left was Winifred, who was sort of the guest of honor. Snow, Tink, and Blue were also present.

The small, girls-only luncheon had been Snow's and Tink's idea. Everyone had wanted to do something nice for Winifred as she waited out the final weeks of her pregnancy, and the young woman was grateful to get out of the convent for an afternoon.

Emma smiled as she watched Winifred tear off a piece of Italian bread from the basket on the table, dip it in a shallow dish of olive oil, and pop it into her mouth. The young woman closed her eyes in bliss.

"No offense to the convent food, Mother Superior, but this might be the best thing I ever tasted," she said.

Emma snorted. "I'm going to have to give you a list of places to try in Little Italy when you get back to New York," she said smugly. "You haven't tasted anything yet!"

"Hey, you love this place, Emma!" Snow protested, glaring at her daughter. "Killian took Emma here on their first date!" she proudly added for the benefit of the rest of the table.

"Awwwwww," gushed Tink and Winifred in unison.

Emma rolled her eyes but felt a blush creep into her cheeks as she remembered the giddy thrills of that evening.

"Anyway," she said, needing a subject change before her thoughts drifted to the date's good night kiss and her blush got out of control. "Hope, sweetie, do you know what you want? Some spaghetti maybe?"

Hope was busily coloring in the boot-shaped map of Italy that adorned the paper children's menu at Tony's.

"I would liiiiike...a cheeseburger," she said, not even bothering to look up at her mother as she answered.

Emma rolled her eyes before leaning over to look at the menu items listed on what was becoming Hope's latest coloring masterpiece. No cheeseburgers, but Emma decided grilled cheese was a reasonable compromise, and less messy than the pasta options (seriously, grilled cheese was just the best.)

Lunch turned out to be a blast. Tink, as usual, was a font of funny stories and sardonic observations about all the latest town gossip. Winifred asked Emma more questions about New York, and Emma found that she had a lot of ideas and recommendations to share. Thanks to Henry, she had tried pretty much every pizza joint in Manhattan.

Hope loved being included with the big girls, and she sat still for a surprisingly long time. When she finally became restless while waiting for dessert to arrive, Snow took her to the restroom and for a leisurely stroll around the restaurant to look at decorations. They rushed back to the table when dessert was served.

Throughout the luncheon, Emma had watched Winifred carefully, trying to assess whether the girl was truly as relaxed and confident as she seemed. Despite her assurances, Emma knew that there was a chance that Winifred could still change her mind. She could realize that she'd bonded with the baby inside of her, or take one look at her daughter the moment she was born and decide she couldn't part with her.

These days, Emma wasn't as vigilant about protecting her own heart, but she knew she needed to prepare herself, even just a little, for the chance that they wouldn't get this baby.

For now, though, Winifred seemed happy as she finished her plate of tiramisu.

"I'm going to miss being able to eat whatever I want," the young woman sighed as she put her fork down. "I need to get this baby weight off before I start auditioning."

"Well," Snow chimed in quickly, "the breastfeeding really helps. You burn about five hundred extra cal-"

She stopped, realizing her mistake as she noticed that everyone except Hope was starting at her with their mouths open.

"Oh," Snow said, her cheeks reddening. "I mean...I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Winifred told her, with genuine understanding on her face. "I'll just have to hit the gym and take it easy on the carbs for a while!"

Winifred's good humor broke the tension quickly, but Emma still hurt for her, and for her mother, who was clearly embarrassed at her faux pas.

"Holy cow!" Winifred cried suddenly after everyone was finished and Emma had asked for the check.

They all turned to the young woman with worry.

"It's fine! Don't worry!" she said quickly. "The little one is just kicking like crazy. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten so much."

Emma felt the rest of the table sigh with relief.

"Hope," Winifred said as she backed up in her chair away from the table and turned towards Emma and Hope. "Would you like to feel your sister kick?"

Tears sprung to Emma's eyes as Hope's face lit up. The little girl nodded vigorously. Emma helped her out of her chair and lifted her onto her own lap so that she could reach out and feel Winfired's belly.

"Right here," Winifred said as she took Hope's hand and placed it on her bump. "Oh! That was a good one. Did you feel that?"

"I felt it!" Hope cried happily. "Was that the baby KICKING? Why is she kicking?"

"Well, she might be training to be a soccer player, or she might want to be a Radio City Rockette one day, so she's practicing for that," Winifred replied with a glint in her eye.

Hope kept her hand in place as she studied the young woman warily.

"Really?" Hope asked, her arched eyebrow momentarily making her a tiny, blonde version of her father.

"Maybe," Winifred replied. "But maybe it's just getting crowded in there because she's getting bigger, and she's just trying to stretch."

Hope nodded solemnly, seeing the logic to this theory, then squealed in unison with Winifred as they felt another round of kicks.

Once the baby settled down, they all reluctantly dragged their overstuffed selves out of their chairs and out the front door. Winifred was heading back to the convent with Tink and Blue, but Emma pulled her aside outside the restaurant. Hope blessed the young woman with an extra big hug goodbye before Snow took the little girl's hand and walked her toward Emma's car.

"Winifred," Emma began, pulling an envelope out of her bag, "I know we haven't talked about money or payment, but..."

"Emma, you don't have to," Winifred replied quickly.

Emma shook her head quickly to silence the girl's protests.

"Look, nobody was around to help me when I was in your situation, and it sucked. I spent a lot of my life feeling like the world was unfair, and that I couldn't trust anyone. It was a shitty, lonely way to live, pardon my French."

Emma paused, feeling her throat constrict with emotion as she remembered that goddamned bitter loneliness. Winifred stayed quiet as Emma took a moment to compose herself.

"Killian and I want more for you," Emma finally continued. "We want you to know that you have friends, and a support system, always. And we want you to have your best chance to fulfill your dream. So please, take this."

She handed Winifred the envelope of cash. The girl took it in her gloved hand.

"Use it for rent, classes, whatever you need," Emma continued.

"I don't know what to say. Thank you," Winifred replied breathily, her eyes glassy.

"Thank _you_ ," Emma replied sincerely. "This has all been so unexpected, but it is such a perfect, wonderful gift. Killian and I want you to know how grateful we are."

Winifred nodded and acquiesced as Emma pulled her into a gentle hug. After, she said a few more profuse thank you's, asking that her gratitude be passed on to Killian as well. They made plans to see each other for her next doctor's appointment, the day after Christmas, then said their goodbyes.

 

The other shoe dropped on Christmas Eve, and Emma was _not_ prepared for it.

The evening started out wonderfully, blissfully calm and pleasant. She, Killian, Henry, and Hope had dinner at home and then each opened one small gift in front of the fire. While Killian read Hope the Grinch book she had received, Emma and Henry chatted quietly about the upcoming addition to the family.

"So, we're going with my name suggestion, right?" Henry said smugly. "I mean, we have to."

Emma smiled at him. He was so excited about his new baby sister and _really_ proud of his idea for her name.

"I don't know, Kid," she teased. "Killian and I might have our own thoughts..."

"None will be as good as mine though!" he protested. "It's even meaningful to Winifred. She _loves_ those movies."

Emma rolled her eyes. Henry's Thanksgiving chat with Winifred about their favorite movies had sparked this idea, and he was not going to let it go. The truth was, she and Killian liked the name too. It really was fitting. She just wasn't ready to commit, and they still had almost three weeks, maybe more, to decide.

Hope went to bed at around eight with little protest, excited to see what bounty Santa would leave her. Killian laid down with her until she fell asleep, then he came downstairs to help Emma with the final wrapping and present placement.

Emma insisted that Henry stay upstairs and read. Even though the jig had been up years ago when it came to Santa, they still liked him to experience the magic of walking downstairs to find oodles of presents under the tree Christmas morning.

When they finished, Killian insisted that Emma sit on the couch and relax while he went to the kitchen to get them some eggnog and rum. She happily agreed, holding onto his hook tightly as he helped her stand up from her spot on the floor by the tree.

She settled herself on the couch at an angle facing the tree and gazed at their Christmas tableau. She and Killian had done a pretty damn good job with the gift-wrapping, especially given the awkward shapes of some of Hope's toys _and_ the fact that they had only three hands between them. The tree lights twinkled splendidly in the dim light, and a fire burned pleasantly in the large fireplace to her left.

She smiled as Killian approached, handed her a tumbler, and sat down on the couch next to her. She took a sip of the sweet, creamy nog, which he had spiced just right with nutmeg and cinnamon. Killian wrapped his left arm around her and she snuggled close as they both continued to admire the tree and the gifts.

"You know, love, I'm quite impressed" Killian murmured into her ear.

"Oh yeah?" she asked lazily, lips curling into a smile.

"I didn't think six-inch ribbon curls were humanly possible. You have quite the talent," he replied, nuzzling her neck between sentences and accentuating the final "t" on talent.

She shivered and couldn't help but lean into him more, craning her head to the side to give him more access.

"Okay," Emma breathed. "This isn't fair, nobody should be able to turn compliments about gift wrapping into sex talk."

"I have my unique set of talents, too," he replied, his voice oozing with sin.

"Don't I know it," she said, closing her eyes as he began to slowly plant soft kisses down her neck.

He paused and she froze when they both heard Emma's phone ring from its spot close by on the coffee table. Lately, she and Killian had both been extra conscious of keeping their phones close and their ringers turned up in case Winifred went into labor early.

It was late, almost ten, but Emma told herself it could still just be her mom calling to finalize plans for Christmas Day.

Her stomach dropped when she grabbed the device and saw that it was Blue.

"Hi Blue," she answered.

"Emma, Winifred started having contractions. They're not four minutes apart yet, but they were painful and close enough together that we decided to bring her to the hospital," Blue's tone was curt as usual, but Emma detected an undercurrent of worry.

"Okay," Emma replied, glancing at Killian, who was looking at her with concern. "Are you there now?"

"No, we're still in the car. Tink's driving us. We'll be there in five minutes. If you want, I can call you after they examine her in the event that it's false labor."

"No, I'm coming down there. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Emma had learned over the years to trust her gut, and right now her gut was telling her that this was it. She hung up with Blue and went into action mode.

"So this is it?" Killian asked, following her as she strode towards the kitchen.

"Yeah, sounds like it," she replied.

"It's early," Killian said, the worry evident in his voice.

"Three weeks is not _too_ early" Emma replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "Due dates can be wrong, too."

She opened the freezer and took out two frozen bags of breast milk, moving them to the refrigerator so that they could safely defrost.

"We'll want those later," she explained. "Can you pack them in a cooler before you come to the hospital and bring them with you?"

"Am I not coming with you now?" he asked.

"I don't know," she replied, furrowing her brow. "Hope, and Christmas..."

"Aye," he conceded. "I hate the idea of leaving her on Christmas Eve."

"We didn't really plan for this specific scenario."

"Why don't you go?" he said, gently rubbing her arm as they stood in the dim kitchen. "If it turns out to be the real thing, I'll wrap Hope up in blankets, and Henry can drive us all over in his car. We'll bring a bag of presents to unwrap at the hospital, including the gift she picked out for the baby."

"Yeah?" Emma said, her eyes suddenly wet as she envisioned the scene.

"We should all be together, Swan," he replied, his eyes full of sweet sincerity.

She nodded and reached up to gently stroke his cheek. He smiled, and they returned to action mode.

Killian updated Henry, while Emma grabbed her breast pump and packed a tote bag full of things she might need for a night at the hospital. She popped into Hope's room to kiss her forehead, then gave Henry a big goodbye hug.

Killian walked her to the door, holding her tight and kissing the top of her head just for a moment before she headed to the cold car.

 

When Emma arrived in the waiting area outside of Labor and Delivery at Storybrooke General, Tink was there to greet her.

"Hey, Emma. You got here quick," she said, giving her friend a quick hug.

"Well, I'm the sheriff, so I can speed all I want," Emma answered ruefully.

She pulled back and looked at the blonde fairy. Tink was devoid of makeup, and on her forehead Emma noticed small worry lines that she had never noticed before.

"Did they do the exam?" Emma asked.

"Whale's in there with her now," Tink replied, nodding down the short hallway that led to the Labor and Delivery suites.

"Blue was worried," Emma said. It was a statement, not a question.

Tink winced as she answered.

"Yeah, Winifred had been nauseous for a couple of days, and then today, she had complained to some of the other fairies about a headache before the contractions started. When Blue found out, she immediately thought—"

"Preeclampsia," Emma finished for her. "Shit."

Tink nodded sadly.

"Nobody worried about the nausea?" Emma asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"No," Tink replied, her voice cracking. "She talked about it like it was just because she was eating too much over the holidays. And the headache just came on today."

Emma's heart twisted as she realized her friend was about to cry. She put an arm around her and hugged her to her side.

"It's okay, it's fine. From what I know about it, it comes on really sudden, and there's no way to know if you're predisposed to it with your first child. She's here, and if it's that, they'll just deliver the baby now."

Tink nodded and wiped at her eyes.

At that moment, Blue appeared in the hallway and walked purposefully toward them.

She and Emma exchanged a nod, and then she got right to the point.

"Winifred has Preeclampsia," Blue told them.

Emma's heart sank. She swallowed thickly and nodded for the woman to continue.

"Her blood pressure is quite high, and Whale thinks it's best to do an emergency C-section now. Emma, she would like you to be in the OR. He said one of the nurses can get you a set of scrubs and a mask."

Emma nodded again, suddenly feeling like she was moving under water. The words Preeclampsia and emergency were echoing in her head over and over.

Why hadn't they been prepared for this?

Why hadn't she thought more seriously that something could go wrong?

She felt blindsided and scared and was barely aware of what she was doing as she dropped her bags on a waiting room chair and moved toward the nearest nurse's station.

But before she could even open her mouth to ask for scrubs, Whale stuck his platinum head out of Winifred's labor suite.

Emma had never seen him look so serious before. And he was yelling.

"People, we need to get this patient into the OR, stat! I need a gurney and extra hands NOW!"

"Whale!" Emma barked. "What is it? What happened?"

"She's seizing. We need to operate now."

He stepped aside to let an orderly with a gurney enter the room, followed by the nurse from the nurse's station.

"I'm coming," Emma told him.

"You can't. She's not even conscious," he replied sternly. "Come on, people, let's go!"

He shouted the last words over his shoulder as he jogged down towards the operating rooms. Two nurses and an orderly quickly followed, pushing Winifred on a gurney.

The young woman's eyes were closed, and her skin was paler than any skin Emma had ever seen on a living person.

Emma wanted to reach for her, comfort her and help in some way, but they were gone in an instant.

Instead, she stood frozen in place, vaguely aware of Blue and Tink murmuring together behind her. Mouth dry, still feeling like she was in slow motion, Emma pulled her phone out of her jacket and called Killian.

He answered on the first ring.

"Swan? Is it the real thing?"

Emma tried to speak, but her mouth was so dry that nothing came out. Her legs felt like jelly, and her whole body was cold. She suddenly flashed back to a couple of months ago, when Hope was in the hospital in Boston, comatose because of the nightmares that witch had given her.

  
Fight, she reminded herself. They need you. You have to be there to fight for them.

"Emma? Darling?" Killian asked when she didn't reply.

"Um, there's a problem," Emma heard herself whisper. She blinked and took a breath to fight the onset of tears then continued, "Winifred has a condition called Preeclampsia. It caused her blood pressure to spike, and she had a seizure. She lost consciousness, and Whale took her in for an emergency C-section."

"Oh, Swan," Killian breathed.

She could almost hear the gears turning in his head on the other end of the line as she waited for him to continue.

"But, she'll be okay? Right?" he asked hopefully. "I remember reading about this condition...as long as they deliver the baby. And they got her to the hospital so quickly..."

"Yeah, I don't know," Emma replied. "She looked bad."

"I'm coming down there."

Emma's eyes filled with tears at the love and determination in his voice.

"Babe," she began thickly. "Hope, and Christmas morning...she should have one of us."

"We were going to bring her...."

"I don't know if she should be here, in case something _really_ goes wrong. And I don't want to put this on Henry, having to stay with her alone during a crisis..."

Killian was quiet for a moment.

"All right," he said firmly. "I'm going to call David to see if he can stay here with Hope and Henry for a few hours so that I can be with you. Neal will be sleeping by now anyway. When we have news, one of us will head home, or perhaps Dave can bring Henry and Hope here."

"Okay," she whispered, nodding. "Thank you. Kiss the kids for me, please. I'll let you know as soon as they tell me anything about Winifred and the baby."

"Aye, love. It will be all right."

Despite knowing how scared he must have been, she could imagine his hopeful nod and kind smile in her mind, and it helped a little.

Emma began to pace the waiting room while Blue and Tink sat in chairs. For a little while, Blue held her hands together and put her head down, looking like she was praying. Emma wasn't religious, but she said her own quiet internal prayers to anyone or anything that might be listening that the two young lives in jeopardy tonight would be saved.

Killian showed up thirty minutes after she talked to him, having summoned David to their house and woken Henry up to let him know what was going on.

A few tears came when she saw him, anxious, frustrated tears that did little to relieve the stress from which they were born. He clutched her close while she grasped his shirt in her fists, rested her forehead against his chest and took deep breaths to calm herself.

She filled him in on what she knew, and he gently questioned Tink and Blue about the onset of Winifred's symptoms. He reiterated Emma's assurances that, with that condition, there is little you can do until it's almost too late.

They waited quietly for a while, constantly checking phones and watches with worry. Tink was just offering to go get coffee when Dr. Whale emerged from the hallway that led to the OR.

He was sweating and still looked as serious and worried as Emma had ever seen him, but he offered a wan smile.

"It's a girl," he said. "Six pounds, two ounces."

"She's okay?" Emma cried.

"She's okay. I did send her to the NICU. She is a little premature and her Apgar scores were okay but not great, which isn't unusual in cases like this. We just want to make sure her lungs are strong and that she's breathing well on her own. You should be able to see her soon."

Killian let out a relieved laugh-sob and Emma nodded through tears. But she didn't miss the way Whale's expression darkened as he prepared to update them on Winifred.

"And?" Blue urged.

"Because of the Preeclampsia, Winifred suffered a seizure before we took her to the OR. With her elevated blood pressure, the surgery took a toll on her and it took some time to get her bleeding under control. She still hasn't regained consciousness, and I need to try to figure out why."

"What do you think it is? What is it usually in these cases?" Emma prodded, acutely aware of how small their town was and of Whale's unorthodox medical training.

"It could have been a small stroke," Whale said. "Temporary loss of blood flow to the brain. We still need to run more tests. Honestly, we're lucky she started having contractions and decided to come here so quickly. It could have been much worse."

Emma nodded as Killian put his hand on her back for support.

She kept thinking of that funny, vibrant girl, now pale and silenced. How crazy it was that she could be suffering from something as serious as a stroke, something that Emma thought was only supposed to happen to old people.

They couldn't see Winifred yet, so Blue and Tink agreed to wait while Emma and Killian headed up to the NICU to see the baby. Killian texted David a quick update as they walked.

As they approached the glass window, Emma noticed right away that only one of the room's six incubators was occupied. She stopped short and moved close to the glass, watching as one of the nurses checked a monitor next to the clear plastic bed that held her daughter.

Her daughter. It didn't seem real yet.

But there she was, this tiny (much smaller than Hope, who'd weighed in at seven and a half pounds) pink baby. Emma wasn't sure from this distance, but she thought she detected a reddish tinge to the fuzz on her tiny head.

"Do you want to go in, love?" Killian asked. "The nurse gave us a wave that we could."

"Yeah, I'm just...it wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to have it _so much better_ than I did. Not be punished for years for one mistake. We are getting this gift, but maybe at the expense of Winifred's life...how is that possible? How is that _fair_?"

Her voice broke on the last word, and she took a breath to gather herself.

"It's not fair, love," Killian replied softly. "But all is not lost, and this babe still needs us. Needs _you_. More than anything."

Emma broke free from her conflicting thoughts long enough to look up and meet his eyes. She managed a small smile and replied, "You're right. Let's go meet our daughter."

Inside the small room, the nurse monitoring their little girl's condition let them know that her vitals were good, and that she was breathing well on her own. In fact, she was doing well enough that she could be taken out of the incubator and given some precious skin-to-skin contact, if that's what they wanted.

Emma nodded a yes, awestruck as she moved closer to the incubator and looked at the beautiful baby inside.

"Hi there, little one," she said.

They had sanitized their hands on the way in, and after gaining an approving nod from the nurse, Emma reached through one of holes in the incubator and touched her daughter's tiny hand. Her skin was so delicate, and drier than one would think. She was squirming a little, the way babies did, and that comforted Emma.

She was tiny, but Emma felt in her gut that she was going to be okay. She breathed a sigh of relief as she continued to stroke the tiny hand with her finger.

"I can take her out, if you want to sit in that chair over there," the nurse told them.

Emma nodded, unable to take her eyes off the tiny pink person with the red fuzz for hair. She stepped away as the nurse approached and moved towards the chair.

Now, all her memories of having a newborn began to kick in. She matter of factly pulled off her sweater and sat down in the chair wearing just her camisole. She pulled the straps down her arms, revealing most of her chest, as the nurse picked up the diaper-clad baby. Emma felt Killian's eyes on them as the woman placed the tiny child on Emma's chest.

Emma held her gently, marveling again at how little six pounds was (especially when you are used to carrying around an almost-four-year-old.) The baby squirmed the tiny bit and scrunched up her face, then seemed to relax against Emma's warm skin.

"Okay?" the nurse asked.

Emma nodded, and the woman gently covered them with a thin sheet.

Killian knelt beside the chair, on Emma's right.

"Go ahead," she said, smiling, knowing he was dying to touch their new daughter.

He laughed nervously, then reached up and gently stroked the baby's back. Emma thought she felt the baby sigh and relax even more.

They were quiet for a few minutes, just taking it all in.

"Have you fed her?" Emma asked the nurse after a while.

The woman nodded and replied, "Yes, a little formula with a medicine dropper."

"Oh, we have breastmilk!" Killian suddenly exclaimed, remembering the small cooler he had slung over his shoulder. He stood and gave it to the nurse.

"That's wonderful," the woman replied. "We'll alternate this and the formula so she gets used to both."

"Can I try to nurse her?" Emma asked.

"You can try," the nurse replied. "Often, premature babies have trouble latching, so don't get frustrated if it takes some time. It's great that she's just getting used to your scent and your touch."

As it turned out, the baby fell asleep before Emma could try to nurse her, so she just rocked her while Killian knelt beside them, enjoying the moment.

After about fifteen minutes, the nurse needed to take her back to the incubator, and Emma reluctantly acquiesced. She adjusted her camisole and pulled on her sweater, all while watching her daughter closely as the woman wrapped her and placed her in the warm bed, replacing the monitor on her tiny finger.

"Emma," Killian said softly as they backed toward the doorway. "If you'd like to stay here, I'll go check on Winifred."

"Yeah, that would be good," Emma replied, her voice thick as the sad half of their situation hit her again. "Text me with whatever you find out."

Killian nodded. He took her hand gently and brought it to his lips.

"It's going to be okay," he said after brushing his lips across her knuckles.

She nodded, unable to voice a reply. She wished she felt as hopeful.

The moment was interrupted by the nurse.

"Hey, one question, Mom and Dad: does this little one have a name?"

Killian lowered Emma's hand and, smiling cheekily, gave her a little nod.

"It's Leia," Emma replied.

 

Downstairs, in the hospital's intensive care unit, Killian found Tink waiting in another tiny waiting room. She stood immediately upon seeing him.

"How's the baby?" she chirped.

"She's wonderful," he replied, unable to help breaking out into a broad smile. "She's breathing okay, and Emma got to hold her, and she's beautiful."

He saw his old friend's eyes fill with tears, and he hugged her back when she flung her arms around his neck.

"I'm so glad," she replied, pulling away. "Now if Winifred would just wake up..."

Killian felt his heart sink.

"So, no change?" he asked Tink.

The fairy shook her head sadly.

"None at all. They still think it was a stroke, but Whale can't find any meaningful loss of blood flow to the brain. He's afraid to give her blood thinners because of the surgery and the bleeding, so now he's just waiting."

"Bloody hell," Killian muttered.

He wondered if they should be doing more for her, trying to move her. He thought about the hospitals that he'd been in in Boston, after his fall down the stairs and when Hope was sick. Those places were so much bigger, had so much more equipment and staff. He thought that another facility could be doing more for her, but he had no idea if it would be safe to move her or whether Whale would give him a straight answer on the matter.

He didn't want to bother Emma while she spent time with Leia, so he decided to call his best friend.

David answered on the first ring and sounded as if it was the middle of the afternoon, rather than the middle of the night. Killian filled him in on the situation, trying to keep his voice level despite the emotions he was feeling.

David was always a source of comfort to him, equal parts friend and big brother. Killian's eyes filled with tears as the man whooped with joy on hearing that little Leia was okay.

He sensed David listening intently as he told him about Winifred and asked whether they should move her. David seemed skeptical.

He assured Killian that, because Whale had been the only doctor in town for years, he had a lot of practical experience. He also noted that Mary Margaret, as part of her volunteer work at the hospital, had done fundraising to make sure the MRI machine and other key pieces of equipment were kept up to date. He believed that the young aspiring actress was safest there for now, and Killian accepted his advice.

"So, Hope and Henry are going to be up in just a few hours," David reminded him. "What do you want to do? Should I bring them to see their new baby sister?"

Killian sighed, trying to envision what Hope would be like if she found out the baby had arrived but she wasn't permitted to see her. Images of foot stomping and magically flashing Christmas tree lights, perhaps even a few exploding glass balls, flashed through his head.

"I'll come back and get them after I check in on Winifred and Leia once more. That way, you can head home for Christmas morning."

David offered to drive Hope and Henry over to the hospital himself, but Killian insisted that he should be with Neal and Snow first thing in the morning.

The plan agreed, Killian thanked his father-in-law and prepared to hang up.

"Killian?" David said before they disconnected. "Henry's going to go crazy for the name."

Killian could hear the smile on David's face.

"Aye, he was pretty insistent," Killian replied, managing to smile himself.

"Congratulations, Killian," David said sincerely.

"Thanks, mate."

 

After hanging up, Killian moved towards the doorway of the ICU room where they were treating Winifred. Inside, he found Blue sitting by the girl's bedside, gently holding her hand.

The machines and monitors hooked up to the pale and deathly still girl gave Killian flashbacks to that terrible day when Hope was unconscious in Boston's Children's Hospital.

Blue spoke to him without turning away from her young charge.

"How is the baby?"

"She's all right," he replied softly, his eyes locked on Winifred's pale face. Even her freckles seemed to have faded. She didn't look like herself at all, and it made him heartsick.

"Emma's with her," he continued. "They think she'll only need to be in that neonatal care room for a couple of days."

"That's good," Blue replied, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "That's wonderful," she continued, reaching up to gently stroke the young patient's forehead. "Now, we just need some help on this front. She needs to find her way back to us."

Killian nodded, trying to reconcile the woman's words with what he'd learned over the past few years of this world's medical practices.

"Is there nothing we can do?" he asked finally.

"We can talk to her," she replied, finally turning to him. "Remind her that we're here, and that we want her to come back. You could tell her about the baby."

Killian swallowed nervously but nodded. Blue stood and indicated he should take her chair. He sat and gently took Winifred's hand the way the other woman had been holding it.

Winifred's skin was disconcertingly cold, and that made him sad. Everything about the girl he knew was warm and fiery. He wondered if she was really even in there.

"Hello, love," Killian said quietly. "It's Killian. I just wanted to let you know that the baby, she's fine. We're calling her Leia. According to Henry, you should approve given your love of 'Star Wars.' She's with Emma and she's going to be okay," his voice broke as he remembered the vision of the love of his life upstairs cradling the new babe.

"So, thank you," he continued. "We want to thank you for this incredible gift that you've given us. But for us to thank you properly, you need to come back to us. Please, find your way back. New York is waiting for you. Those theater people will be astonished by you, but you have to get there first. Please, we're all here for you."

After he finished, he watched her face intently, desperate for some sign of life. But there was nothing.

A few minutes passed, then Killian resigned himself to the continued quiet. He sighed and wiped away the tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes.

He and Blue switched places again, and Blue patted his hand gently before taking Winifred's again.

He lingered in the doorway for a moment more, hoping against hope that something might change. Then he headed back to the NICU to tell Emma he was going home to get their other children.

Emma agreed that it would be best to bring the kids to see Leia so that they could all spend Christmas morning together. Killian stood by her chair in the NICU and they chatted as they stared at the newest member of their family.

He took a turn placing his hand into the incubator to stroke Leia's tiny arm. As he did so, he thought of the baby-proofed hook at the end of his left wrist and wondered whether this child would learn to accept it like her sister had, grasping it just like it was a hand. Like he was whole and normal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma watching them tenderly, but when he turned to meet her eyes he saw the depths of sadness and worry behind them.

He embraced her once more, took a last look at Leia, and headed home, wishing he had the power to snap his fingers and bring Winifred back.

 

Emma stayed in the NICU for a few hours after Killian left, not caring that she wasn't going to get any sleep. She attempted to breastfeed Leia, but the tiny child wouldn't latch, so Emma settled for giving her breastmilk through the medicine dropper the way the nurse had shown her. While she sat in the NICU, she pumped a couple of times in order to keep up her supply.

As the hours passed, Emma thought she could see clear signs of improvement in Leia's strength and alertness, and the nurse agreed.

It was just before six on Christmas morning when Killian texted that he, Henry, and Hope were on their way to the hospital. Emma pressed two fingers to her lips and kissed them, then passed the kiss on to baby Leia, who was wrapped and asleep in the incubator.

On her way back to the Labor and Delivery waiting room, where she had agreed to meet Killian and the kids, she stopped by the ICU. She had checked in earlier, but Blue told her that they had taken Winifred for more tests. Emma hadn't seen the girl since before she'd been taken to the OR for her C-section.

This time, Winifred was back in her room. Emma quietly entered and stood by the bed as Blue watched from a chair against the wall (Tink had headed to the convent to update the other fairies in person and to get a few hours of rest.)

"So, no change?" Emma asked quietly after watching the pale girl for a few minutes. "Nothing at all?"

"They still can't find the specific cause. It could have been a blood clot, or fluid on her lungs, but whatever it is isn't showing up on the usual tests," Blue replied sadly.

Emma nodded, swallowing back her disappointment.

And her guilt.

She knew in her head that Leia was supposed to be theirs, and that it what's Winifred had wanted. But in her gut, all she could think about was how unfair it was that their perfect little daughter may have come at the expense of Winifred's life.

Emma pulled a chair close to the bed and spoke to the girl for a few minutes as Killian had done. She gave her an update on Leia but couldn't think much else to say.

"I'm sorry," she muttered finally. "This sucks, and it isn't fair, and I'm really, really sorry that you're so sick. We all want you back. So just, please wake up!"

Of course, nothing changed.

Emma fought to maintain her composure, but she felt like throwing something. Or maybe punching Whale (that seemed to have worked for her dad once.)

The memory that her kids were going to be there soon forced her to get it together. She sighed to gather herself, then gave Winifred's hand a small squeeze.

"Merry Christmas, kiddo," Emma muttered sadly, by way of goodbye.

Emma arrived at the brightly lit Labor and Delivery waiting room just in time to see Killian, Henry, and Hope ambling towards the room from the opposite hallway.

Henry looked uncharacteristically disgruntled, this was early for a teenager, even for Christmas morning.

Killian was carrying Hope in what Emma liked to think of as her "koala pose." He supported her bottom in the crook of his elbow, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, her tiny soft cheek pressed against his beard.

Tears sprung to Emma's eyes as she took in the sight of her family, and she was once again hit with a wave of gratitude for the miracle her life had become.

"Mommy!" Hope cried upon seeing her. 

They reached for each other when they met in the middle of the waiting room, and Emma pulled Hope into her arms and hugged her tight.

"Mom, the baby _and Santa_ came last night!" Hope cried, pulling back to look at her mom with delight in her eyes.

"I know, sweetie. Isn't that amazing?" Emma asked.

"Yeah, so amazing she woke up at five because she was so excited," Henry muttered, stepping to Emma's side.

She shifted Hope to one side pulled her tall son against her with her free arm.

"Yeah, it's early, Kid. Thanks for getting up."

"I'm kidding," Henry replied. He brightened and added, "I am really excited to meet little Leia!"

Emma glared at Killian.

"You told him?" she cried. "I thought we were going to tell him together!"

Killian reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

"Well," he said, "the lad guessed, and I just don't have the poker face that I once did."

 Emma laughed. She released Henry, grabbed Killian's shoulder, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I forgive you," she said. "So, I see you brought some of the loot from Santa?" She nodded down at the two large shopping bags that Henry had placed by some chairs.

"Yep! We're going to open presents ( _pwesents_.) I brought one for Baby Leia!" Hope cried excitedly.

"Do you want to do that first, or do you want to go meet Leia?" Emma asked, shifting Hope in her arms so that she was looking at her straight on.

The little girl scrunched up her face adorably. Clearly this was a true dilemma. The other three chuckled as the child considered her choice.

Finally she said, "I think...baby first."

"Excellent choice," Killian told her, taking her back from Emma in preparation for the walk to the NICU.

The four of them headed to the small room with the big glass window. They stopped at the window to point out Leia, and so that Emma could gently explain to Hope why she was in a glass bed and why there was a wire attached to a clip on her finger.

Hope seemed to take it in stride, understanding that the baby had been born just before she was done baking, and that they had to be extra gentle with her for that reason.

Everyone cleaned their hands before they entered, and Emma and the kids huddled around the incubator while Killian stood behind Henry and watched over his shoulder.

"Man, she is so little," Henry breathed, carefully reaching through one of the holes to stroke Leia's tiny hand.

"She'll catch up," Emma assured him.

"Was I a baby like this?" Hope asked, studying her small, pink sister intently.

"Sort of like this, lass," Killian replied. "Just a bit bigger, and the hair on your head was kind of a light brown, not red."

"I had brown hair?" Hope cried, turning to look at her dad.

"Just for a month or so," he replied. "Then it fell out and came in blonde like it is now."

"Huh," Hope replied. This was new information to her. "Will the baby's hair fall out and change color?"

"It might," Emma replied. "Or it might stay red. We just have to wait and see."

They fussed over little Leia for a few more minutes before Hope began to squirm in Emma's arms. Emma and Killian exchanged a glance.

"So is it present time, kids?" Emma asked them.

"Sure," Henry replied.

"Yes. But can we see Winifred ( _Winnie-fwed_ ) first?" Hope asked.

This time Emma and Henry, who knew a little about the gravity of Winifred's condition, exchanged worried looks.

Killian stepped in, plucking Hope from Emma's arms and speaking softly to her.

"Lass, remember how I told you that Miss Winifred got a little bit sick after she had Leia?" he said.

"Yeah. Maybe we can bring her some soup!" Hope replied.

"That's a grand idea, love. Maybe when she's feeling a bit better. But right now, she's sleeping, and I'm afraid she needs more rest before we can see her."

Emma sighed with relief as Hope nodded and seemed to accept that. She soon turned her attention back to presents. They all whispered goodbyes to Leia and headed back to the waiting room to celebrate an unorthodox Christmas morning.

Killian and Henry ran to fetch coffee and hot chocolate from the cafeteria, while Emma and Hope arranged presents under the small fake tree in the waiting room.

Hope, who could spell her own name and recognize it when written, carefully inspected each of the packages that were for her.

Emma responded to a Merry Christmas/Any Updates? text from her mom. Snow texted back telling her that they were coming to see the baby as soon as Neal opened his presents. Thinking back to how that kid had torn through his packages at his last birthday, Emma expected them within the hour.

They opened presents when the boys returned. Emma and Killian mostly watched and helped clean up paper and bows.

Henry's haul was modest this year. Emma, Killian and Regina had jointly got him a used car back in the Fall as a combined Christmas and Birthday gift.

Hope was happy with her collection of toys and books, and once all the gifts were open, she settled happily against Henry as he read The Day the Crayons Quit to her.

Emma watched them, her heart bursting with love and gratitude for her (three!) healthy kids. When she glanced at Killian, expecting to see the same feeling reflected in his eyes, she was surprised to see that his brow was furrowed in thought.

She reached over and grabbed his hook.

"I know," she said as he turned to her. "I went to see her earlier. There's no change."

"Emma," he said after a beat. "Can I speak to you about something, out of the children's earshot?"

She nodded, and they quietly stepped away to the far corner of the waiting room.

"What is it, babe?" Emma asked him, rubbing his arm, as he was clearly struggling with something.

"I think we should let Hope try to heal Winifred," he said softly.

"Killian—"

"Hear me out, love," he replied. When she nodded, he continued, "I know you worry about magical healing, especially when the injury or illness is complex."

"Yeah, I worry about it because it doesn't work! I can use my magic to heal a bump on someone's head, but they may still have a concussion inside. It's just, like, surface level stuff. I'm too scared that I'll mess up something really complicated and make it worse."

"I know, Swan, but what if that's just it, the fear?"

"What?"

"When Hope uses her magic, she's acting on unbridled instinct, and she doesn't hold back. It's like her power is conjured up from her innate sense of love and righteousness, and she's using it to set things right, the way they're supposed to be. She just _does_ it, with no fear."

"Killian, are you trying to pirate-splain to me how magic works?" Emma chided him, only half joking.

"Of course not, love. Your magic is extraordinary, and you wield it with wisdom and grace," he replied, raising his eyebrow charmingly.

She chuckled in spite of her earlier annoyance.

"Emma," Killian went on, turning serious, "when I fell off the ladder in the shed a few weeks ago, I was hurt pretty badly."

"Killian—" she began slowly, hearing the warning note in her own voice. "How badly?"

"Well, I was actually passed out for a little while. And when I woke up and stumbled back into the house to you, I was quite dizzy."

"What?" she cried.

They both froze as the kids looked over at her raised voice. Emma gave them a nonchalant wave, and Hope and Henry went back to their book.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Emma said softly.

"I didn't want to worry you. Or have you yell at me for my recklessness as you are doing now," he replied with a glint of humor in his eye.

She rolled her eyes at his cheek.

"The point is," he continued, "that when Hope healed my cut, the dizziness went away. It didn't slowly fade, it simply just disappeared. Completely, instantly, as soon as she touched me."

"Killian," Emma said patiently, "I think I get what you're trying to say, but we don't know for sure that all of that was because of Hope. And even if it was, what's wrong with Winifred is so much more serious..."

"But what could it hurt, love?" he pleaded. "What if we just let her try? You know your daughter. I believe that if we let Hope see Winifred, her first instinct will be to try to heal her. Do you really think she could make it worse?"

Emma was quiet. She was still scared. The consequences for everyone would be unthinkable if somehow Hope  _did_ make it worse.

"Emma, she won't be afraid," Killian said quietly. He took her arm and turned her gently so that they were both looking at Hope. "Her magic is pure love. When she uses it, it's with a completely true and open heart. If we help her believe she can do it, I think that she will."

Emma turned away from the kids back to Killian. He was right about the fear. Emma had been an adult when she learned that she had magic. For her, using her power had always been laced with a dangerous amount of terror that she would lose control and hurt someone.

As much as they wanted to help Hope learn to respect and control her magic, they had also worked hard to make sure that she wasn't afraid of it. That was the difference between her and Emma.

That and the extra power Hope gained from being the second generation product of True Love.

Emma thought of the fiery, passionate young woman who now seemed to be drained of life in a quiet room just few hundred feet away.

"We could try," she said softly, her voice filled with a mixture of the anguish she felt about Winfired's condition and hope that Killian's suggestion might work.

Killian gave her his customary nod of encouragement, his blue eyes sparkling with hope. She smiled and leaned forward, and he bent down to touch her forehead with his own.

They went back to Hope and Henry and spent a few more minutes enjoying the spoils of Christmas morning.

Emma went to speak to Blue about Killian's idea.

The experienced fairy was usually cautious, but Blue had been present when Hope had healed the young, sickly dark fairy just a couple of months ago. After looking at Winifred's pale lifeless form for a few long moments, she agreed with Emma that it was worth letting the young child try.

Back in the waiting room, Killian sat in a chair and pulled Hope onto his lap. Emma sat beside them and took her daughter's little hand.

"Sweetheart, remember before when you asked about Winifred?" Emma began.

"Yep!" Hope replied. Despite the still-early hour and the busy morning they'd had so far, she had her usual energy.

"Well, she's actually pretty sick. Something in her body is making it so she won't wake up. The doctors have tried to make it better, but so far, they haven't been able to."

"Is it like when I was in the hospital?"

Emma winced. The memory of Hope's nightmare-induced coma always turned her insides to jelly.

"Not quite like that, love," Killian interjected. "It's not a magical illness or a curse. It's just something wrong inside of her, but we're not sure what."

"So she's sleeping?"

"It's like she's sleeping, yes," he replied. Then, after a beat, he added, "We thought you might like to see her, and that maybe you could help her, the way you help people sometimes."

"You mean wake her up? Like when I wake up Mommy in the morning?"

Henry, listening nearby, snorted at that.

"Not quite like that, baby," Emma replied, smiling slightly. "More like, when you fixed Daddy's head a couple weeks ago after he fell off the ladder."

"Ohhhhhh," Hope replied. "Okay!" she added brightly after thinking it over for a moment.

"Yeah?" Killian said.

"Sure! I can fix the boo-boo."

Emma and Killian exchanged glances. The problem was, there was no visible 'boo-boo' with Winifred, but they silently agreed to cross that bridge when they came to it. Maybe Hope would just understand.

Henry decided to wait in the waiting room. David, Snow, Neal, and now Regina were all on their way, so he would greet them and fill them in. He gave his little sister a hug and wished her good luck. She rewarded him with a confident 'thumbs up' in return.

Killian carried Hope as they walked to Winifred's room, where they found Blue talking softly with Whale. The normally smug doctor looked tired and defeated, and he nodded at the family as they entered the patient's room. He and Blue backed up towards the door while Emma led Hope to Winifred's beside.

Emma sat in a chair near the head of the bed and pulled Hope onto her lap. Killian stood close by, just to their left, gently stroking his daughter's hair. Emma explained again how Winifred had gotten sick after having Leia, and now they weren't sure why she wouldn't wake up.

Hope was brave, despite the quiet and pallid appearance of her friend. She gently reached out and touched the young woman's arm, then suddenly turned back to Emma with a worried expression.

"She's going to miss Christmas!" the little girl exclaimed.

"She might, love," Killian replied.

"But we got her a present," Hope added.

It was true, they had picked out a small painting of the rocky Maine coast that Winifred could hang on the wall of her New York apartment.

"Aye," Killian said. "It would be lovely if you could give it to her."

Hope nodded, and her features took on a determined set that she'd clearly inherited from Emma.

She reached out again to take Winifred's arm.

"Time to wake up, _Winni-fwed_! It's Christmas!" she said earnestly.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Emma felt a sense of warmth emanating from the child on her lap. Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered then went out. But the room wasn't dark.

A glowing white light was emanating from Hope's hands. It spread out from her fingertips up Winifred's arm and grew until it suffused her whole body with its pale glow. Her skin was already so white, the light made it seem like you could see right through her, like she was some kind of ghost or angel.

Emma couldn't have said how much time passed; it might have been a few seconds or a few minutes. But she wasn't afraid. And even more, she knew in heart that _Hope_ wasn't afraid.

The little girl was just setting things right.

Finally, the light on Winifred's skin faded, and Hope pulled away. She slumped back slightly against Emma. The hospital lights blinked back on.

"There," Hope said simply.

Emma looked at Winifred, who was still unconscious. She shot a worried glance at Killian, who knelt down beside them, took Hope's little hand in his own and kissed it sweetly.

"Well done, love," he said.

Maybe he'd sensed some movement from the young woman on the bed, or maybe his faith in Hope was just that strong, because he seemed to realize that it had worked before Emma did.

She looked back at Winifred and, sure enough, the young woman's eyelashes began to flutter.

Emma's breath caught in her throat as she watched, and she pleaded silently for everything to be okay.

"Hey guys," Winifred croaked, finally opening her eyes.

Blue strode to the bed, and Emma saw tears in her eyes.

It was Hope that spoke first.

"Good morning! It's Christmas!"

Winifred looked at the little girl with confusion for a moment, then smiled.  
"It is?" she said tiredly.

Whale stepped into the room then, and Emma, Killian and Hope backed away so that he could help Winifred sit up and get her a small sip of water.

They all watched as she seemed to orient herself. After a few minutes, a strange expression passed over her features.

"The baby?" she said.

"She's upstairs," Emma replied. "She's fine, and she's beautiful. You did amazing." Her voice was thick and full of tears.

She was a little ashamed to find that she was afraid. What if, after all this, after almost dying, Winifred had changed her mind about the adoption?

"Good, that's good," Winifred replied. "Congratulations," she added, meeting Emma's eyes with more strength than Emma would have thought possible from someone who had been so ill.

"We're so happy that you're all right," Killian told her, and Emma could hear the emotion in his voice. "You gave us quite a scare."

Winifred nodded then said, "I guess it's not too bad. I didn't have to push."

She smiled wanly at her joke and they all chuckled.

She looked up at Hope.

"Thank you, Hope," Winifred said. "I know what you did for me. I could feel your light bringing me back."

Hope shrugged.

"You were going to miss Christmas," the little girl replied matter-of-factly.

"Okay, this is all adorable, but the patient needs some rest and some time to adjust," Whale told them. "Everybody out."

As they left, Emma glanced back at Winifred one more time. The girl looked tired and sad, Emma thought. But she managed one more small smile in Emma's direction before she rested her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

The rest of the morning was filled with celebration. Emma, Killian, and Hope found the other members of their family anxiously awaiting their arrival in the waiting room they had taken over in Labor and Delivery.

There were hugs and tears, and gifts were exchanged. David and Snow couldn't wait to see the baby, so Emma led them up to the NICU where they ooohed and awwed as they looked at the little angel through the window.

Snow cried and gushed about how cute she was. David pulled Emma into a long hug, holding the back of her head as he always did. They left to rejoin the party, and she stayed with her baby.

Inside the NICU, she held her daughter close against her breast again. For a few minutes, Leia rooted more actively than she had before, but when Emma tried to place her tiny mouth on her nipple, she took it gently and fell right to sleep.

"Well, I'm glad you're comfortable, anyway," she said with a sigh, smiling down at the tiny, red fuzz-covered head.

"We're so happy you're here, you know," Emma continued. "It was a little bit of winding road, but you're part of our family now, and we love you very, very much."

Leia sighed in her sleep. A few quiet tears spilled from Emma's eyes as she continued to rock her newest little love.

 

That afternoon after all of the others had gone home to prepare for Christmas dinner, Emma stopped by Winifred's room again. She knocked quietly, and the tired girl greeted her warmly.

"So, did everyone have a nice Christmas?" Winifred asked wryly as Emma sat down by the bed.

"It will be one to remember, that's for sure," Emma replied with a roll of her eyes. She turned serious and added, "Look, I wanted to see you, now that you're feeling a little better and ask, do you want to see her?"

Winifred closed her eyes at the complicated question.

Emma bit her lip, nervously awaiting the girl's response.

Finally, the young woman in the bed shook her head.

"She's yours, Emma," Winifred said. "I've been thinking of her as yours since before I even met you, and now that she's here, I still think of her that way. It feels right. I'm worried that seeing her might, I don't know, muddy the waters."

Emma took a breath to gather her strength. She didn't want to say the next part, but she knew she'd hate herself if she didn't.

"Winifred, maybe muddying the waters is okay, though. Maybe you should give yourself a chance to see how you feel," Emma said finally.

"Emma, I know what you're doing, but it's okay," Winifred told her. Her voice was gaining strength as she spoke. " _She's yours._ And it _does_ hurt. But I know where I need to be, and it's not here. And it's not taking care of a baby or a kid. I just want to keep thinking of her as belonging to you and Killian. I want to keep knowing that she's going to the home she deserves."

Emma still must have looked as worried as she felt, because Winifred took her hand and squeezed it.

"Her best chance, Emma. That's what you are. I have no doubts. As soon as I feel better, I'm going back to New York. I have lot to do there," Winifred finished.

Emma nodded, finally starting to believe.

"If you ever want to know about her," Emma said. "Just call, or write, or email us. We can keep you updated as much or as little as you want."

Winifred nodded. "Maybe. I'll think about it."

"And we'll look for you on TV," Emma added with a grin.

"You'll find me!" Winifred replied.

They chatted a little more before it was time for Emma to head home. She wanted to eat and change and visit everyone for a while before coming back again that evening to be with Leia.

Emma and Winifred thanked each other, and they hugged. They both cried a little. Emma promised to stop in every day until Winifred was released, but assured her that they didn't have to talk about Leia if she didn't want to.

As they were saying their goodbyes, Tink and another young fairy arrived to visit. Emma took her leave, grateful she was leaving the young aspiring actress in the care of friends.

 

Three days later, the Swan-Joneses brought Leia home.

There was a flurry of activity as they settled in. Hope insisted on leading the group up to Leia's room to show it to her, proudly pointing out the artwork that Hope herself had chosen.

Killian held Leia up on his shoulder and turned his back so that the tiny baby could appreciate the view of her new space. He put his face close to her tiny one and nodded his head, as if the baby had just whispered something to him.

"Leia approves," Killian told them. Then, winking at Hope, he added, "She especially likes the art."

Hope beamed up at them both in response.

Throughout the day, Emma and Killian took turns feeding the baby. She still wasn't latching, but Emma had faith that it would happen. In the afternoon, Emma took a nap when Leia did. Henry and Killian cooked for the family while Hope played with her Christmas toys.

After dinner, they sat around the living room, alternately gazing at the tiny baby squirming in Emma's arms and admiring the tree that still stood.

"We'll take it down after New Year's," Emma said tiredly.

They all nodded in agreement, too exhausted from all the baby stuff to think about de-Christmasing the brilliantly decorated house.

"Guys," Hope said suddenly. "Look what I can do!"

Before anyone could respond, the little girl began to stare at the tree intently. The colorful lights blinked off, then back on, then flashed half a dozen times in quick succession.

"Well done, lass," Killian said proudly.

"Hey, since Winifred is a fairy, is there a chance that Leia has magic?" Henry asked.

"Maybe," Emma replied. "I'm not sure how all that works. I kept meaning to ask Blue."

"She has it," Hope said confidently.

"Aye, lass?" Killian replied. "How do you know?"

Hope shrugged, then looked at her parents with a mischievous grin.

"Leia told me," she said confidently.

Emma looked at Killian. His eyebrows had shot straight up to his forehead.

"It's okay, babe," she told him. "We can handle it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again a MILLION for sticking with me on Emma and Killian's adoption journey, and on this entire work. I appreciate every Kudos and comment. 
> 
> A couple notes:
> 
> Magic Beans is a real toy store and is indeed located in the Prudential Center Mall in Boston.
> 
> Many of Hope's statements and speech patterns are and have always been inspired by those of my younger son. Because of this, and of course because she is the product of True Love twice over, she is very, very special to me. : )


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